


Devotion

by Evil_Little_Dog



Series: Devotion [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Reality, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Family, Friendship/Love, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 95,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Alphonse's death sends Edward into a long, slow spiral down into hell, dragging those who love him down, too.<br/>Disclaimer:  I am not Hiromu Arakawa.  I just play her on TV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Year Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> A.N.1: Alternate Reality. Mangaverse. Everything up to at least chapter 76 is fair game. 
> 
> A.N.2: Much thanks to Cornerofmadness for the attaboys and edits and suggestions and also to Lyrangalia for loving this story and wanting more of it.

The wind whipped up the hillside, carrying little bits of ice in its clutches. It tore the remaining leaves off the trees, sending them racing along ahead of it, like rabbits running before a hound. The wind caught the young woman’s hair, pulling it free from the barrette that held it in place, making strands lash her face. She winced, trying to smooth hair out of her eyes, blinking hard. She turned her back to the gusts, letting them blow over her and subsequently destroy her attempts at containing her hair. With a little sigh, she reached up and undid the barrette, letting her hair stream down. The wind promptly blew it up over her head but she turned into the wind, heading farther along the hill, letting the icy breeze carry her hair past the side of her face.

It seemed fitting, visiting the cemetery when it was like this. Winry Rockbell stopped to steady herself, her gloved hand falling on a tombstone to keep her balance. The ground wasn’t slick yet but if the weather reports were right, an ice storm would be moving in later today. The ice crystals carried by the wind cut into what little skin was bare and Winry grimly wished she’d brought a hooded jacket. She clutched her bouquet of flowers tighter, making her way further along the hill. 

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to see another person standing at the gravesite, though her lips thinned at the sight of his silhouette. Winry couldn’t really remember the last time she’d seen him; the funeral? No, surely she’d seen him after that but it was all a hazy blur. Winry remembered shouting, the crash of something breaking, the feeling of her heart being ripped to shreds and his eyes, welcoming her accusations and accepting all the blame, the same way he always did. 

As if he could feel her approach, he straightened to a standing position, his head turning just a bit though not nearly enough to meet her eyes, just enough to acknowledge her presence. The wind dragged at his long brown jacket and his hair, set in a messy ponytail, whipping the tails of both around relentlessly. Winry could tell by the hunch in his shoulders that the weather was making his ports ache and an unexpected wave of sympathy washed over her. She said nothing, knowing that Edward would take it badly. Instead, she knelt next to the stone, sliding the stems of the flowers into the vase. The storm would freeze them, she knew, but for this instant, the red and white petals brightened the grey granite. 

Winry touched the letters that formed his name, her eyes closing briefly at the almost physical ache welling up inside her. The cold stone seemed to freeze all the feeling in her fingertips but she couldn’t stop herself from tracing the letters. It was a compulsion, as if by touching those letters, she’d be able to connect to him, to Alphonse, even if Winry knew it to be a lie. The dead didn’t rise nor did they have anything more to do with the living. They were just gone, like Mom and Dad, Auntie Trisha and Mr. Hughes. Beside her, Edward shifted his weight, obviously not sure whether he should remain or not. Winry half expected him to turn and walk away and was surprised that Edward stood there, waiting for her to finish her own communion with his brother. 

When she rocked back away from the stone, he said gruffly, “Those flowers won’t last the storm.”

“I know that.” Winry folded her arms around herself, trying to stave off the chill, though she wasn’t sure at this point if it was from the approaching storm or the young man standing next to her. “But I couldn’t come and not leave him flowers.”

Though she’d spoken mildly, Edward’s shoulders rose and his head lowered, as if he expected her to throw a wrench. “Yeah,” he said finally, when Winry figured he wasn’t going to say anything at all, “yeah.” 

The cool ground seemed to be leeching the warmth from her body and Winry shivered, getting to her feet. The wind buffeted her again, flinging her hair around and she hunched against it, closing her eyes again. She could almost hear Alphonse’s laugh but the wail of the wind blew it out of her head. “Ed,” Winry said, not even sure if he could hear her.

“Yeah?” He still wouldn’t look at her, his gaze turned toward the stone. 

“I’m cold, Ed. Let’s – let’s get something to drink, okay?” Winry didn’t know why she needed this, couldn’t quite fathom it, but she knew she didn’t want to be alone and didn’t want Edward to be by himself, either. She watched as he seemed to weigh his decision carefully then, with a heaving sigh, he nodded. 

“C’mon.” Edward indicated she should follow him with a jerk of his shoulder, not even glancing back to see if she would. 

He led her into the wind, the icy flakes cutting into her skin but Winry wasn’t about to complain. She trained her eyes on Edward’s back, following his shoulders, remembering when she thought they’d gotten so wide, so strong. How long ago had that been, she wondered, unable to dredge up the memory. Al had been alive then, trapped in steel, but still alive, and Ling…Winry shook her head, not wanting to go any farther down that path of pain. How many people she cared about had been lost to one war or another? Her gaze took in Edward’s form, striding along in front of her, and Winry wanted suddenly to reach out to him, to pull him back. 

Instead, she tucked her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket, forcefully trying not to remember her time in the Briggs Mountains, either. The cold wind seemed determined to bring up those memories and Winry close her eyes tight for a few seconds, wanting to push them as far away as she could. Still, they loomed, fever bright, and Winry had to shake her head against them. In Briggs, she’d still loved Ed. 

Forcing herself to move faster, Winry thought it ironic that she now followed him again, at least briefly. How many times had she chased after Edward Elric? Now, she only wanted to know why she’d asked if he’d wanted to get something to drink, to get warm. 

Edward hesitated at the bottom of the hill, the wind whipping his hair around his head. His head turned but still, he didn’t look at her, his focus somewhere in front of his shoulder, as far as Winry could tell. “Where do you want to go?” he asked and even the gusts of wind weren’t enough to hide the flatness in his tone.

Winry caught up to him and, if he wouldn’t look at her, she didn’t have to look at him, right? “I have a hotel room, Ed,” she said diffidently. “It’s out of the wind and we can get something to drink from the café.” 

He nodded abruptly, as if being invited to a hotel by a woman was commonplace and for all Winry knew, it was. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming at him and instead, followed his example, hitching her shoulder at him to indicate he should come along. She felt a shock of surprise to realize he was, trailing along behind her, head lowered – against the wind? So he didn’t have to look at her? – hands shoved deep in his pockets. Winry led him through the streets of Central to her hotel, the wind sometimes strong enough to nearly shove them off their feet, the ice particles like tiny needles against uncovered skin. 

The entrance to the hotel felt like a furnace after being so long outside and Winry thought she’d gone deaf without the roar of the wind pressing against her. Behind her, Edward hung his head and she didn’t wait to see if he’d still follow, moving into the hotel to the front desk. No one had left any messages – no one knew she was here, but Winry figured that if any of her friends had thought about it, they would’ve known where she’d be on this date, the anniversary of Al’s death – and Winry headed for the stairs and her room on the third floor of the hotel. Edward trailed behind, a silent shadow, the sound of his uneven steps on the treads still familiar, after all this time. 

Arriving on the third floor, Winry unlocked the door to her room, stepping inside. She started unwinding her scarf, setting the dripping fabric in the bath, and hanging her coat up next to the radiator. She turned that on, holding her hands over it to let the warmth seep into her palms, glancing over her shoulder to see Edward still hovering in the open doorway. “Come in, Ed. Get warm.” 

He hesitated but obeyed, closing the door behind him, and Winry watched as he rested his hands against the wooden frame for a few seconds. She turned away before Edward caught her staring. Moving to the newly installed telephone, Winry thought that having one in her hotel room was a marvel that she could learn to live with, especially when she could call downstairs and request that food and drink be brought up to her room. While she ordered coffee and two bowls of soup, Edward slowly came into the main area of the room. He still had that hangdog look to him and Winry thought if he didn’t get out of that wet jacket, he could get sick. She wondered if she cared then answered the question as the words came out of her mouth, almost of their own volition, “Ed, take off your coat. You won’t get warm in that wet thing.” 

He flinched again, as if she’d struck him with more than words, but unwound the scarf from his neck before shrugging out of the jacket. Winry glanced over her shoulder at him then turned fully to face him, slack jawed. He looked…thin. Not emaciated but on his way to it. Winry murmured her thanks into the telephone receiver and replaced it in its cradle. As if unaware of her scrutiny, Edward raised his flesh hand, rubbing at the anchors for his automail arm, then let his hand fall back to his side. 

“Sit, Ed.” Winry heard the softness of her words and marveled at them. “Sit down before you fall down.” 

Obediently, he folded himself onto the little sofa, his hands on his knees, his gaze, Winry guessed, somewhere between them. He shivered once then quieted, but Winry could see past his messy hair to the hectic spots of color on his cheeks. With a little exasperated sound, she tore the blanket off her bed, moving to stand in front of Edward. Stubbornly, he refused to look at her and she wanted to shout but instead furled the blanket up and out, wrapping it around him. “Honestly, Ed. You can’t want to kill yourself.” 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Winry wished she could bite them back. Edward’s head came up; his teeth showed in that particular snarl he got sometimes but it wasn’t nearly as frightening as it had been in the past. This time, it seemed weak, like an afterthought more than an actual reaction to her words. Instead, he slumped a little in her blanket, reminding Winry of the little boy he’d once been. “Why not?” he creaked out. “No one wants me any more.” He snorted, his voice a little louder though no less rusty. “No one cares.” Edward shot her a heated look though the fire in his eyes seemed more like embers than actual flame. “You don’t have to be nice to me, Winry. You don’t have to pity me or take care of me.”

“Yeah,” Winry said, managing, for Al’s sake, not to sound bitter, “I do have to. You’re his brother, still. And you were my best friend.” 

Edward made a sound of derision. “I was never that good of a friend to you, Winry.”

The sound of her palm contacting with his cheekbone was loud in the close room. Edward’s head snapped sideways from the force of the slap and he didn’t turn back. Winry could see his throat move and his hand lifted to knuckle at the corner of his mouth. “See, Winry? I’m just as much of an asshole now.”

She clenched her teeth, wondering if Edward was trying to goad her into hitting him again. Going into the bathroom, Winry picked up a towel, running water onto it. That Edward still remained huddled under the blanket on her couch told more than he probably wanted her to know. She crossed the room, standing in front of him. Determined not to look at her, he kept his eyes directed on the floor but Winry wasn’t taking that any more. She caught his chin, gently pulling it up, though she had to tighten her grip when Edward attempted to jerk free. “Hold still, Ed. I’m not going to hurt you…again, I mean.” Winry dabbed the wet towel at the trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I had no right to hit you.”

Edward growled and shifted then quieted, letting Winry work. His eyes remained downcast but flicked up at her regularly. Winry said nothing in response to his looking at her, too dismayed by the changes she found in him. His cheeks were hollow and the beginnings of a beard prickled her fingers. Dark circles drooped under his eyes. He smelled sour, as if he hadn’t bathed in a while and Winry, bracing her hand on his shoulder briefly, felt the sharpness of the bones under his skin. She wondered when he’d last taken care of himself but realized she knew the answer – it had been at least a year ago today. 

A knock sounded at the door and Winry turned away from Edward, hating herself for the little bubble of relief that rose in her body. “Coming,” she said, and picked up her purse, counting out a tip quickly as she walked. When she opened the door, a young man wheeled a cart inside the room, glancing at Edward out of the corners of his eyes and trying not to stare. Winry handed him a tip and shooed him back out the door, closing it behind him. “Feel free to help yourself.” She tried on a smile as she faced Edward but he was focused on the cart of food. From the expression on his face, Winry guessed it had been a while since he’d eaten. “Go on, Ed.”

He took the bowl of soup and held it in both hands for a bit and Winry couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to warm his flesh hand. Finally, Edward picked up a spoon and began eating, slowly, at first. Winry poured a cup of coffee for both of them, setting Edward’s cup down close enough to him that he could reach it easily. She seated herself at the little desk the hotel provided, sitting sideways in the chair and sipping her coffee, savoring the warmth it provided. 

Edward abruptly finished his soup, the spoon clattering inside the bowl and he stared down into it. “Thanks, Winry,” he mumbled, his appreciation barely carrying to her.

“You’re welcome.” Winry wished that they could go back to the way things were before, the simple give and take of their conversations, fraught with bad moods, cursing and yelling, but she knew that wouldn’t happen. 

Edward fidgeted with the bowl as she watched, turning it in his hands, then finally placed it back on the cart. He picked up the coffee and took a gulp of it, his face tightening for an instant as the heat of the liquid burned his mouth. He took a couple of cooling breaths through his mouth before attempting a more cautious sip of the coffee. 

Lowering her gaze to her hands, Winry rubbed her thumb across the rim of the cup. The stone on her left hand winked and she stared at it, not allowing herself the luxury of that memory. Still, like so many memories today, it rose unbidden: Al’s laughing eyes, suddenly turning serious, catching hold of her hand and sliding the ring onto her finger. “Marry me, Winry,” he’d said, squeezing her fingers lightly, leaning in to kiss her, and Winry remembered flinging her arms around him, holding on to him so tight. 

It hadn’t made a bit of difference. She couldn’t hold him tight enough to keep him from leaving her. Biting her lip, Winry set down her coffee cup a little harder than she meant to, the liquid sloshing out over the rim and onto the back of her hand. With a hiss, she cradled her hand against her chest, standing up and going into the bathroom to run cold water over it before it scalded her. The water raced over her skin but Winry could see the pink discoloration through the stream and knew she’d be dealing with a little pain until the burn healed. 

She heard the door open and close before she could almost turn around. Taking a deep breath, Winry told herself she wasn’t disappointed, that she’d almost expected it. She bit her tongue, thinking that the prickling in her eyes was because of the day, of the pain she was in from burning her hand. A sob heaved out of her. Why had she thought it would be any different? Fisting her burnt hand, Winry slammed it into her reflection, sending the glass tinkling into the sink. Blood dribbled from cuts on her knuckles and Winry stared at it, letting it drip onto the reflecting shards. 

The door opened and Winry lifted her head, the shattered reflection showing her multiple Edwards coming into her room, a little grey bucket in his hand. They all gazed at her, their eyes widening at the sight of the destroyed glass and Winry couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, letting her head droop forward as if it was too heavy to hold up. Exhaustion and anger vied for the right to take her over and she didn’t know which one would win. 

A soft clatter came from beside her and Edward said, “You idiot! What were you thinking?” A hand reached into her field of vision and Winry let Edward take her wrist, too stunned to react, her gaze trailing up his arm to see a flash of his old anger. Edward made a grumbling sound that changed to a hiss when he got a better look at the damage. Without further comment, Edward thrust her hand under the water again, using his thumb to gently rub over the torn skin on her knuckles. 

Winry stared dumbly at his hands while Edward cleaned her self-inflicted wounds. After his initial outburst, he remained silent. He was more considerate than Winry expected, plucking little splinters of glass from her skin, massaging soap into the abrasions, keeping her hand still when she yelped and tried to pull away. Edward was still strong, no matter what, and Winry finally relinquished all control of the situation to him. 

“Done,” Edward said, after what seemed like a long time. Winry realized she sat on the closed lid of the commode and that Ed perched awkwardly on the edge of the tub. Her hand sported bandages around the knuckles. She couldn’t remember where they came from and wondered if Ed had called down to the desk. “You need to lie down, Winry.” 

Her hand snatched at his sleeve, holding tight. “You’re not leaving.” Winry knew she’d meant it as a question but it came out as a reedy voiced plea. 

Edward swallowed and shifted his weight. “I shouldn’t,” he mumbled.

“Please, Ed. I really don’t want to be alone today, of all days.” Winry didn’t release her grip on his sleeve. A tremble ran through her and she hoped she wasn’t going to start crying again. 

He stood up, though Winry realized he didn’t try to shake her off. Blowing out a soft gust of air, Edward said, “Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll order some more coffee. Or tea?” 

Winry could see his eyes flick to her though she couldn’t read their expression beneath his shaggy bangs. She nodded in response, afraid if she spoke, she’d sob. 

“Tea.” Edward bobbed his head then closed his fingers lightly over hers. “I’ll stay,” he added. 

Winry slowly let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding at Edward’s statement. She tightened her grip on his sleeve, thinking the fabric felt as worn out as she did. Swallowing, Winry leaned her cheek against Edward’s forearm. 

He flinched at the contact but he had no other outward reaction at first then, tentatively, his free hand came up, landing on the crown of her head in an awkward pat. Winry felt Edward’s fingers smooth over her hair before his hand fell away. “I’ll get you something to wear,” he said and, at that offer, Winry released his sleeve. Edward moved slightly away from her, turning on the water in the bathtub. He plugged the drain after testing the temperature with his flesh fingers. “Get cleaned up,” he repeated, as the water began to rise in the tub. Winry heard Edward mumble something else but he turned and walked out of the bathroom before she could ask what he’d said. 

The door remained slightly ajar and Winry could hear the faint rustle of Edward’s search through her things. A part of her knew that some women would be scandalized to have that happen but this was Ed and it wasn’t like it meant anything. Still, when he returned, rapping lightly on the door and causing it to swing further open, Winry found herself embarrassed that a pair of her panties spilled out between his fingers. Edward didn’t look her way as he set the clothes next to the sink, not even tossing her a glance as he walked back through the door.

“Leave.” Her voice cracked and Winry tried again. “Leave the door open, Ed.” She didn’t want him to go without her knowing it.

Edward hesitated, his hand on the knob. He turned his head, an acknowledgement of her words, though he still didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll close it when room service comes, all right?” Stepping through the opening, Edward pulled the door slightly to, offering Winry some privacy.

She undressed as the tub filled, her thoughts spinning in her head, so chaotic she couldn’t even get a handle on them. Winry let them twirl, losing herself in the repetitive motions of brushing her hair and pinning it up to keep the ends from getting wet. She slipped into the tub, the heat of the water immediately pinking her skin. Winry closed her eyes, letting her back slide down, her chin barely above the waterline as she turned off the faucet with her toes. The warmth enveloped her but Winry still felt cold, as if a block of ice was at her core and nothing would melt it. She pressed her injured hand over her mouth, tears leaking from her closed eyes. She managed to keep her sobs quiet, not wanting to alert Edward to her misery. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his own to bear. 

At some point, Winry heard a knock at the outer door and Edward closed the bathroom door on the way to it. Winry could just make out some words exchanged and the soft creak of the service cart entering the room. The outer door closed again and the sound of metallic knuckles tapping on her door alerted her. “Tea,” Edward told her through the thin wood and Winry sat up to finish her bath. 

She walked into the main room a few minutes later, her hair still pinned up on her head, her skin still rosy from the heat of her bath. Edward sat on the little sofa, as if he’d never actually moved from it, another steaming cup in his hand. A second rested on the desk, along with her bowl of soup, which Winry was surprised still remained hot. She shot a glance at Edward, thinking that he might’ve reheated it with alchemy. It wasn’t like Alphonse hadn’t done the same thing with her coffee when she was working late in the night. Swallowing hard, Winry sat at the desk. The fragrance of her tea and the soup tickled her nose and she wished she felt more hungry. 

Forcing herself to eat meant she didn’t have to actually talk to Edward and that, more than anything, made Winry pick up her spoon. She stirred her soup, taking a small sip of it. The rich broth rested on her tongue and Winry wished it didn’t taste like ash in her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, coughing when the liquid went down the wrong pipe. Edward started up at the harsh sound. A spurt of surprise ran through Winry at the concern that was suddenly evident on his face, in his eyes, before she waved him off, getting control of herself. Edward settled back down on the sofa though his gaze remained trained on her while she ate, something that caused her discomfort when she’d glance up from her meal. While he didn’t exactly meet her eyes, he wasn’t looking away, and Winry could feel his stare like a weight on her flesh. It made her skin prickle and twitch and Winry suddenly wondered why she’d asked Edward to come to her room. 

The realization came like a blow. Need. Winry needed someone who knew Al as well as she did and Edward was that person. He was the one who could share her mourning, who would understand why she still wore Al’s ring. If only, Winry thought wistfully, but shunted that wish aside. 

Winry finished her soup, letting the spoon clatter into the empty bowl. Exhaustion settled around her like a shroud as she finished her meal and, while Winry knew it was bad manners, she suddenly wanted to curl up in her bed and sleep. A part of her remembered she’d felt like this before, shortly after she’d gotten the news that Al had been killed. All she’d wanted to do then was sleep, though Winry thought she really couldn’t even call it that. She’d closed her eyes to hide from the world. 

Turning her gaze wistfully to the bed, Winry made her decision. Her hands moved to her head, pulling the pins to let her hair fall down. “Ed,” Winry said as she stood, “you can stay if you want.” The mattress sank slightly beneath her when she sat down and Winry pulled at the blankets fitfully, rucking them up and crawling beneath them. She rubbed her cheek against the crisp, cool cotton of the pillowcase, running her thumb over the band on her finger. Pressing the stone to her lips, she whispered, “Good night,” to Alphonse. 

And heard Edward mumble back, “Night.”

* * *


	2. One Year Anniversary, Part 2

Shadows pooled in the recesses of the room, the lack of light outside the windows making the interior dim and hazy. Edward still turned the cup in his hands, a slow motion, a slide of smooth, heavy ceramic against his flesh fingers. The warmth within the room felt strange against his skin, the comfort of it almost an irritation. It made his shoulders twitch. The soup sat heavy in his stomach and Edward swallowed hard, not wanting to throw it up. He pressed the cool metal of his arm against his forehead, closing his eyes tight.

 _Why am I here?_ he wondered, not for the first time. Edward dug his metal digits in his hair, strands catching in the joints. He welcomed the pain and cursed it both. Baring his teeth, Edward shook his head hard. This wasn’t where he belonged. With a groan, he got to his feet, setting the cup aside with a soft clink. He managed to take a few steps toward the door only to glance at the lump in the bed. Closing his eyes again, Edward fisted his hands. _I shouldn’t be here._

Winry had whispered, “You can stay, Ed, if you want,” then, “good night.” 

Edward could hear her words repeating in his mind. He could hear other words, too; ugly, hateful words; a voice raised in shrill anger, one that still haunted him when he let it – all too often, if truth be told. He hadn’t expected welcome nor acceptance but, Edward reminded himself, Winry had a great capacity for forgiveness or at least a great generosity of spirit. He couldn’t forget how she’d taken care of Scar in Briggs even when he, himself, had failed her, how he’d been unable to keep her safe and had to rely on others to protect her.

Rage lashed at him again, shaking him like a dog shook a rat. Edward lost himself in that sensation, trembling hard enough to rattle his teeth. The plates of his shoulder clattered from the violence of his quaking. His stomach roiled and Edward clamped his flesh hand over his mouth, biting on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. The pain settled him enough that he could move and he stumbled back to the sofa, all but falling onto it. Grabbing a pillow, he crushed it against his chest, trying to ground himself with the texture of the fabric, the weight of it against his body. 

Her name thrummed through his blood with his heartbeat and Edward buried his face in the pillow, trying to drown out everything in the room; the soft sound of Winry’s breathing, the warmth captured within the walls, her scent, like metallic lilacs, wrapping around him. Winry mumbled softly in her sleep, kicking her feet under the blankets and Edward caught his breath. 

He wished for things, impossible things, and Edward was well aware how impossible they were. He wished his brother was still alive. He wished they’d never tried to bring their mother back from the dead. And, right now, most of all, Edward wished he’d never seen Winry Rockbell this day. She brought up too many memories, too many feelings that Edward had worked hard to forget. 

If he thought of Winry, if he allowed himself to think of her, everything fell apart.

Remembering hurt; worse even than his automail ports before a storm. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Edward let his head drop back against the sofa. Remembering hurt but Winry had asked him to stay. He couldn’t disappoint her any more, no matter how much he might want to walk out of this room, this hotel, leave Central City and every memory it held in it. 

The pillow falling out of his grip, Edward dug his fingers into his hair. He knew he’d never be able to run far enough to leave Al’s death behind. Opening his eyes, he stared at the door, glancing from it to Winry. Finally, he got to his feet, swaying slightly. The watch in his pocket informed him, when he popped open the lid ( _another memory, Winry’s sorrow after she confessed that she opened his watch_ ), that it wasn’t all that late. Running the tip of his tongue over his lips, Edward smiled grimly. Maybe he couldn’t escape the memories but he could dull them for a while.

* * *

Edward closed the door behind him softly, hearing the soft ‘click’ of the lock setting home. The key to the room scraped against the case of his watch and Edward shoved his hands in his pockets, closing his metallic fingers around both watch and key. Winry’s voice echoed in his mind, _stay if you wan_ t, and at least he’d kept the damned key so he could return. Edward pushed aside the thought that Winry might wake up and be disappointed, might worry. Dammit, he was just going downstairs to the bar he’d spotted when Winry had led him into the hotel. It wasn’t like he was leaving Central.

_…oh, how he wanted to, how he wanted to run away again, go to the far reaches of Amestris and try to leave the memories behind, even though they trailed him like a suit of armor trailed after his younger self._

He had to pause on the stairs, trembling so hard he couldn’t move and Edward clasped a hand around the railing, tight enough that the wood seemed to squeal in protest. 

_…“What are you doing to yourself, Fullmetal?” Mustang’s voice had rolled over him, making him open his eyes. “You look sick.”_

_“I’m fine,” Edward had insisted._

_“You’re skinny and pale. You look like Fuery, after Havoc and Breda took him out drinking that one time.” Mustang had studied him with something peculiar in the light of his eyes. “Edward,” he said, lowering his voice, “you cannot continue doing this to yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”_

_He’d snarled back at his commanding officer, “Not my fault? Whose then? Al’s, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Yours, for sending him to that city?” Edward heard his voice crack. “That metalworker who made the knife? Tell me, Mustang, whose fault is it?”_

_And the older man had the grace to look down at the top of his desk, then stand, walking past Edward as he left the room. He hesitated next to the sofa, long enough to press a handkerchief into Edward’s hand. “I’m sorry.”_

_The words lingered long after Mustang left the office and Edward shredded the square of silk fabric, leaving it in a mound on the bastard’s desk before he had walked out the door._

He managed to get to the ground floor without any further complications, walking into the bar and placing an order. The whiskey burned his throat, the warmth of it far more familiar than that of the coffee or soup Winry had served him. Edward downed the first shot and tapped a metal digit on the bar in request for a second. He shivered, tugging fitfully at his jacket, tightening it around his shoulders. The cold reminded him of Briggs and Briggs reminded him of Al. 

Al….

Edward tossed back another shot. 

_…“Brother?”_

_“Huh?” Edward hadn’t even glanced up from the stocks encircling his wrists. Dammit, things were going straight to hell._

_“How do you know when you’re in love with someone?”_

_The innocent question – and that Al was the one asking it – brought up Edward’s head. He bumped it into the stone wall behind him in surprise, swearing under his breath and wishing he could rub his skull. At least it wasn’t a Winry-induced bump. “Why are you asking me?” he barked out, quickly turning aside thoughts of Winry, not wanting Al to know. Like Al wouldn’t. Al, dammit, somehow knew everything, even things Edward didn’t want his little brother to even consider._

_“Because you’re my big brother,” Al had answered and Edward couldn’t help but imagine an eye roll to go along with that ‘dummy’ that Al had been nice and not tacked on to the statement._

_“Yeah? So? What makes you think I’m in love?” Edward scooched down further into the mattress, mentally wishing it was more comfortable and warmer, warmer would be nice. His automail ports were killing him._

_“No reason.” Al’s sing-songy answer made Edward’s temper flare briefly._

_“Why?” he snapped out. When Al didn’t answer immediately, he went on. “Dammit, Al!”_

_“Oh, look, Brother. Breakfast!”_

And somehow, the idea of food, warm food, had turned Edward’s attention away from Al’s line of questions. Edward shook his head in disgusted remembrance. Had it happened then? Earlier? When had it been that Al had fallen in love with Winry? A memory surged up from where he’d buried it, rising in his mind like a ghost. 

_…“What’s wrong with you?” Edward glanced at his brother as Al dropped heavily onto the cot in the small room they shared. Despite the inexpressive armor, he could always tell when Al was startled._

_The armor rattled and Alphonse somehow managed to look shocked and guilty, both. “Um,” he said, obviously hedging. “Nothing, Brother.”_

_“Come on.” Edward made a beckoning motion. “Spill, Al. You obviously have something to say.” He closed his book in an obvious gesture._

_“I…” Al hesitated, then the words all came out in a rush, so fast that Edward barely understood them. “IthinkWinrylikesme‘causeshegavemeakiss.”_

_“Huh?” Edward blinked owlishly, trying to decipher that string of syllables into words._

_With an exasperated sound, Al said, “Winry kissed me.”_

_“Huh?” Edward stared at his brother._

_“Winry,” Al repeated, almost patiently, “kissed me.” He tapped a leather finger against the side of his helmet. “Right here.” His tone escalated in excitement. “Winry kissed me, Brother!”_

_Swallowing, Edward glanced away from the obvious joy evident in front of him. “Heh,” he managed to choke out, “that’s good, Al.”_

_There was a long pause between them, filled with Edward opening a book, rustling the pages, for some reason, unable to see the print. And Al whispered, “Liar.”_

_His head jerked up and Edward stared wide-eyed at his little brother, his mouth opening in protest. Al cut him off. “Come on, Ed. You’re angry, aren’t you? Angry that Winry kissed me first.”_

_“I am not.” The protest came out weak but Edward knew he could push it to sound normal. “I mean, it’s just Winry –“_

_“Shut up, Ed,” Al sounded tired beyond his years and Edward’s mouth turned down at the weariness in his brother’s voice. “How long did you expect Winry to keep waiting on you? How many times did you turn away from her? You couldn’t even talk to her about Scar, she had to find out with you screaming at him in the street.”_

_“That was a mistake!” Edward couldn’t help but grind it out._

_“We both made mistakes, Brother,” Al said quietly. “We both hurt her so much and she doesn’t deserve it.” He squared his shoulders, the plates rattling. “I’ve decided I don’t want to hurt her any more. I care about her, Ed. I care about Winry as much as I care about you.” The words came out as a whisper, “I think I love her.”_

Edward remembered something inside him shattering at Al’s confession. Of course Al loved Winry. Who wouldn’t? She was cute and smart and funny, she could be sweet and kind and she had to be the most generous person Edward knew and she was theirs. Their best friend, their sister, the girl they’d fought over as kids. The girl, Edward thought to himself, picking up another shot glass full of whiskey and drinking it down, he’d dared to consider loving, even if it took forever for him to realize that maybe, he did. 

By then, it had been far too late.

Tapping his finger on the counter again, Edward signaled he wanted another drink, and another after that. He was determined to drink enough so he didn’t remember what happened a year ago today, but he could still hear Al’s voice, choking on his own blood, as he tried to speak. 

_…“Shut up! Don’t say anything!” Edward pressed his hands against the wound, trying to will the blood back in his brother’s body. “Just be quiet, Al, okay?” He turned his head, screaming, “Help us!” before glancing back down at Al’s waxy face. Blood rouged his lips and his hazel eyes were dull. “Al? Stay with me, Al, ‘kay?” Edward pressed harder on the wound, wishing he’d studied healing alchemy. If he had…“Al, are you there? Alphonse!”_

_“Brother?” Al’s voice sounded so wispy, tenuous, even farther away than he’d ever sounded within that damn suit of armor. “Brother, promise me?”_

_“Anything, Al, you know it.” Edward choked back a sob. He couldn’t cry now, he wouldn’t, he hadn’t cried in years and years and he wasn’t going to start crying now. Heat gushed around his hand and he forced the heel of his palm down harder on the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. Knife wound, he thought, stupid idiot stepped between those two men arguing and dammit, why did I let him? “Al, you with me?”_

_“Brother,” Al mumbled, “Winry.”_

_“You’ll go home to her, I promise,” Edward said, “you’ll get married,” then, “Somebody, help us!” at the top of his lungs._

_“…needs you.” Al’s hand came up slowly, trembling with the effort. His fingers touched Edward’s cheek. “Need her.” His mouth turned up in a faint smile. “Loves.”_

_“You can tell me later, Al,” Edward said, shaking his head at the stinging behind his eyelids. “Just be quiet now, okay? Please?” He felt like he was going to fly apart from his trembling. “Al? Al!”_

_“…love,” Alphonse breathed out and his hand drifted away from Edward’s cheek, landing on his thigh with a soft thump._

_“No.” Edward glanced around wildly, not seeing help anywhere in the people crowded around. “Al? Little brother? Alphonse? C’mon, Al, you’re not going to see Winry again if you…Al?” He leaned forward, his face right above his brother’s, holding his own breath, waiting to feel the touch of Al’s exhalation. “Al, come on, come on, breathe for me, Al. Please. Damn it, Alphonse, take a breath, come on! Winry will kill me if you don’t come home to her, Al.” Edward swallowed hard, closing his eyes, his forehead resting on Al’s. “Please, Al, I can’t lose you, too, I just can’t.”_

_The only answer was the rumble of voices around him, nothing that Edward cared about right at that very instant. “Al,” he moaned, “please!” He opened his eyes, staring down into his brother’s, into dulling, honey-colored irises, and Edward knew, somewhere sickeningly deep inside, that his brother was gone beyond any hope of healing. “Al?” he whispered. “Alphonse?”_

The scream that ripped out of Edward when his little brother didn’t answer still seemed to echo in his brain and tonight, of all nights, Edward wanted to shut it up. “Another,” he barked when the bartender didn’t bring him the whiskey fast enough. “Just leave the bottle.” Keep drinking, so maybe, maybe, he wouldn’t remember Al’s last words, wouldn’t remember Winry’s horror that he came back instead of her fiancé, wouldn’t remember how useless he was, how useless his alchemy really was, when it came up against death. 

Maybe tonight would be the night the alcohol worked and Edward hoped that to be true as he swallowed more of the fiery liquor, tipping the glass on its side to signify it was empty. Maybe…but for some reason, Edward didn’t think it’d blot out the voices in his memory. So far, he’d not gotten drunk enough to escape them in the past. 

* * *

The unknown jangle startled Winry awake and she stared at the ceiling of the room, trying to gather herself and her shattered dreams into something cohesive that would explain where she was. The telephone rang a second time and she jerked closer into wakefulness, rolling partway out of the bed. Mumbling, “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she got to her feet, bumping into a little table with a soft curse. The light was too dim to see properly by and Winry felt like she was halfway blind, crossing the unfamiliar room. She tracked the telephone mostly by the sound, running into the desk where it sat and barking her knee on a drawer handle as she fell into the chair. Fumbling for a chain, she tugged the lamp on, the pool of light making her hiss until her eyes adjusted. Winry snatched up the receiver on the fourth ring, her voice strange as she rumbled out a hello.

“Dr. Rockbell?”

She blinked at the formal title, trying to remember why she needed it and then nodded. “This is she,” Winry said, her short term memory slowly returning – hotel, Central City, the date, Alphonse – she winced, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out. 

“Dr. Rockbell,” the voice seemed both concerned and somewhat frosty, “your…guest is causing a bit of trouble downstairs. Would you like to speak to him?”

Guest? Winry closed her eyes, remembering that she’d invited Ed back to the hotel after seeing him in the cemetery. “I’ll be right down.” Replacing the receiver in its cradle none too gently, Winry rose from the chair, managing to control herself enough to not stomp on the floor. Someone might be sleeping beneath her and she wouldn’t take this out on a poor, unknown person, when Edward Elric, the current source of her irritation, could bear it all. She threw on her clothes, barely making sure that she hadn’t buttoned her shirt crooked and, not finding the key, flung her hands in the air. “Edward, you ass.” At least, a somewhat saner part of her said, he took the key. He was planning on returning. 

“Good. I’d hate to have to hunt him down.” 

All but running down the three flights of stairs, Winry shot a hard stare around the lobby, not seeing a miscreant alchemist anywhere. That left the café, which, being dark, meant it was unlikely Edward was there. Since the bar was still lit up, it gave her a reason to go inside. Striding to the doorway, she met a man dressed in the hotel’s colors, his expression grim. “Where is he?” she asked without preamble, her fists planted on her hips.

Her question couldn’t have been more ill-timed. The flash of light signifying an alchemic transmutation brightened the bar, making some of the patrons cry out in surprise. Winry winced at the fading brilliance, her mouth drawing into a thin line. Edward knelt on the floor, hands pressed to it, a fanged, winged…thing…rising from between them. He laughed mirthlessly, flopping back onto his backside, his head lolling. “Pay up,” he said, stabbing his right forefinger into his left palm, turning to look at the man behind him. “I said I’d make this place homey.”

“Edward!” 

Shoulders hunching at the tone of her voice, Edward peered out from behind the sculpture before sliding more firmly behind it. Winry could hear his hoarse whisper of, “You didn’t see me,” from where she stood in the doorway.

Mumbling threats under her breath, wishing she’d thought to grab up her old, trusty wrench on her way downstairs, Winry stomped across the bar, stopping to stand over Edward. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinked up at her, his gaze sliding toward the dragon she stood next to. “Nothin’.” 

“Edward, put the floor back to normal, now.” Winry folded her arms, waiting for him to capitulate. 

Lower lip protruding, he crossed his arms, mimicking her position. “No.”

“Now, Ed.” 

His head jerked to the left, brows lowering even more. 

“Edward.” Winry closed her eyes and knelt down in front of him. She laid a hand on his thigh, feeling him jump at the contact. “Come on, Ed. I’m tired. I don’t want to fight with you.” 

He made a little weary sound, like a tea kettle after the water had been poured out. Slumping in a position that made Winry think he was going to pass out, Edward pressed his palms together, laying them on the floor. The dragon melted back into the flooring, everything appearing normal again once the transmutation light died down. “There,” Edward mumbled, his chin resting on his chest.

“Thank you, Ed.” Winry got to her feet, offering him a hand. Edward stared at it, slowly lifting his eyes to her face. Giving him an encouraging grin, Winry felt relieved when he slapped his palm into hers, tightening his fingers around her hand. She tugged and he came willingly, almost bonelessly, crashing into her and sending her staggering back a step. Catching at him, she managed to keep them both upright, though their skulls smacked into each other. 

“Owww,” Edward groaned, eyes slitting from the pain. 

“Serves you right,” Winry muttered, keeping hold of his hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here before you cause any more damage.” She moved away, stretching their arms between them and gave a little tug. “Ed?”

“Awright.” He stumbled after her then dragged to a halt. 

Winry discovered it was impossible to move Edward when he stopped, at least with the leverage she had. “What is it?”

“Wasn’ finished,” Edward said stubbornly, looking at the bar.

“Oh, yes, you are.” 

A petulant expression settled onto his face. “No,” he said, more clearly than he’d said anything else since Winry had found him in the bar, “I’m not.” The little bit of humor he seemed to have held on to drained away at those three syllables and Winry could see just how frosty his eyes were. A part of her wondered if Ed was a mean drunk or if everything had just caught up to him. His hand tightened on hers, squeezing hard. 

Clearly, Winry said, “You’re hurting me, Ed.”

He stared at her blankly, not letting go, not even loosening his grip.

“Hey, let go.” The man who’d been standing behind Edward reached out, grabbing his shoulder, giving him a shake. “Don’t hurt the girl.”

Winry saw something flash across Edward’s face and he frowned just a little, looking down at their hands, as if trying to remember how they’d come to be joined. His fingers moved, resettling around her hand slowly. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“It’s okay, Ed.” Winry gave him a little smile. “Come on, let’s go back upstairs, okay?” She took a step away from him, tension fading as Edward started to follow her then jerked to a stop again. “Ed?” 

He let go of her hand, pressing his fingers to his temples. “…dizzy.” His face suddenly paling, Edward staggered into Winry. She grabbed him, holding on tight as he sagged against her heavily. Edward moaned softly against her shoulder and Winry hoped he didn’t throw up all over her. 

“Is he all right?” the man asked.

Winry refrained from biting his head off at the stupidity of the question. “I need to get him back to my room,” she managed to say politely, hoping that it could be done without Edward vomiting. 

The hotel clerk raised an eyebrow at them. “There is the elevator,” he said reluctantly. 

The movement of the lift alone might make Edward puke, Winry knew, but she also knew she wouldn’t be able to get him up the stairs under his own power, not with the way he was clinging to her. If he’d pass out, it wouldn’t be so bad. He might remain unconscious until she got him to the room but this was Ed and Winry had no doubt he’d stay awake just to spite her. “Good idea,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the clerk. 

The clerk eyed Edward, his mouth turning down. “I’ll get a garbage can,” he said, “in case of any accidents.” 

The man who’d spoke to Ed helped Winry move him into the elevator. Somewhere along the way, Edward turned boneless, incapable of standing on his own. He giggled once though Winry had no idea what he might have found funny and frankly, wasn’t about to ask. “He’s awfully heavy for a little guy,” the bar patron said, once they’d wrestled Edward into the car.

Winry had him propped up against the wall, holding Edward in place with her body. He twitched reflexively, mumbling into Winry’s throat, “…notta pipsqueak.” Rolling her eyes, Winry adjusted her grip on his waist. Of course, he’d hear that. 

“Automail,” Winry said simply, relieved when Edward didn’t start flailing. 

The clerk popped through and the elevator operator closed the door and the gate to the lift. “What floor?” the operator, a cute brunette, asked politely and Winry craned her head over her shoulder, hoping again that Edward didn’t start puking once the car was in motion. 

“Third,” she said, noting the clerk had brought a trash can. Good. Of course, Edward would probably throw up all over her before she could get him situated with the trash can but it was a start. 

“Thank you!” the operator chirped and Winry wondered if the girl had shared a lot of elevator rides with drunk men. She shuddered to herself at the idea. At least in her chosen profession, drunks were unlikely. She followed Granny’s teachings and refused to let anyone who’d been drinking in the shop, much less near any of the equipment. Automail was sobering enough and the need for it such that Winry wasn’t about to risk her reputation for some drunk’s idea of getting strong enough to pound away some bully. The fact that it took so long for the rehab was enough to make most sober people think twice and Winry had noticed that keeping certain tools handy and showing off what they did to someone not quite in his right mind made all the difference. 

Edward swallowed and groaned as the car started moving, the little lurch sending him swaying into her, bringing her right back to the present circumstances. Winry pulled back a little, trying to get a good look at his face but his head flopped forward, bangs shielding him even more. “Ed?” She tilted sideways, reaching up to smooth his bangs out of the way. “You awake in there?”

“Nng.” His head bobbed, though Winry wasn’t sure if that was in reaction to her touching him or if Edward was actually agreeing with her. He still looked pale but at least his skin tone hadn’t taken on a greenish tinge. The elevator wobbled as it halted at the third floor and Edward jerked his head up, his eyes wide and panicked. His hand flew to cover his mouth and Winry ducked under his arm, grabbing for the trash can and holding it up for him. 

Everything was expelled from his stomach in a rush, accompanied by a hacking that seemed likely to turn him inside out. Winry concentrated on Edward, holding the trash can as he shuddered and coughed, spitting bile. The elevator operator pulled open the gate and the door, letting in a trickle of fresh air. The clerk’s mouth was in a firm line and the man who’d helped Winry with Edward looked a little chalky, himself. 

Edward groaned, lifting his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Come on,” Winry told him, setting down the trash can to take his arm. “My room’s just down the hall.” She propelled him off the elevator. Edward lurched in the right direction and Winry glanced over her shoulder at the lift and the trio still inside it. “Thank you for your help,” she said as the operator closed the door. 

“‘m no help.” Edward stopped abruptly, nearly dragging free of Winry. He cast about, for an instant reminding her of how he’d looked so long ago. “Where’s Al?”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds, Edward’s question ringing through her skull. “He’s…he’s with Granny, Ed.” Technically, not a lie. Capturing his arm again, Winry managed to get him moving forward. He seemed likely to protest but Winry rifled his pockets, finding the key to unlock the door and hustled him inside, not really caring if he suddenly barfed on the floor. She’d rather deal with that in the room than Edward asking about Alphonse in the hallway of the hotel.

Edward stood just inside the doorway, swaying slightly. His forehead creased slightly, as if some memory was making itself known. Blinking at her, his expression wavered between curiosity and dawning dread. “Winry,” he whispered, reaching out to grab her shoulders, his fingers tightening, “Winry, Al’s dead, isn’t he?”

Hand pressing to her mouth, Winry could only nod a reply and Edward jerked free, spinning and flinging himself into the bathroom. He slammed into the toilet, curling over it, the sounds of his misery far too clear. Shuddering, Winry wrapped her arms around her waist, unable to comfort the man who’d been her best friend until she could get herself under control. When she could finally move, she reached for the telephone, calling down to the front desk again. “Coffee, please.” Winry managed to croak out that she also needed a man’s bathrobe before replacing the receiver in the cradle. 

Silence reigned for a few minutes, the time melting by like ice on skin. Shivering, Winry turned up the radiator, standing over it, wanting spring, wanting to thaw. The sound of the toilet flushing interrupted her thoughts and she could hear Edward running water in the sink. She washed her hands in the air over the radiator, trembling. _He’s here, he’s here, Alphonse is gone, he’s here_. The words tumbled in her head, becoming meaningless jumbles of letters and Winry finally shook herself out of the daze when the water shut off. 

Slowly she turned around, the faint curl of heat creeping up her back, bolstering her with its warmth. “Ed?” Her voice didn’t seem loud enough to reach him but he stepped out of the bathroom, his head jerking in response. “Why…why don’t you take a bath? I ordered us more coffee and,” Winry hesitated, “a bathrobe. It’ll help warm you up.” _Surely you’re as cold as I am._

He scuffed his booted foot over the floor. “No oil.” 

No… Winry blinked at that admission, a little bubble of pride surprising her. “I have some.” Her mouth tilted up in an unaccustomed smile. “I am a mechanic, after all.”

Edward’s mouth opened, as if to protest further but he snapped it shut again. With a sigh that might’ve been defeated, he toed off his boots, unbuckling the belt and Winry wondered if he planned on stripping right in front of her. Not that she hadn’t seen every square millimeter of Edward’s naked body before but they’d been younger, there had been surgery involved and she’d been far more worried whether he was going to stand up to having the ports installed for his automail and whether it really was a good idea for her to install the catheter or she should’ve made Granny do it. 

As if he felt her eyes on him, Edward’s head came up. He stared at her, a faint frown creasing his forehead before a stain rose over his cheeks. “Sorry,” Edward mumbled, “I’m used to,” and he shook his head abruptly, turning back into the bathroom. 

He left Winry to wonder what he’d been about to say, what followed that broken sentence – being alone? Someone’s name? She nearly laughed madly at the idea that Edward might’ve meant prostitutes, though Winry supposed that it was possible. She didn’t know this Edward, even though she’d caught glimpses of him in the Briggs mountain range. Then, she’d assumed he was acting. With a sigh, Winry moved to the bed and sat on it, waiting, like she always did, on Edward. 

* * *

Edward closed the door to the bathroom quietly, his head landing against it with a thump. Alcohol aside, his drunk was fading almost as quickly as frost on a sunny morning, leaving him feeling cold and worn. The reflection in the mirror ( _that I repaired, good job, Eddie-boy_ ) showed him things he didn’t want to see, didn’t even want to contemplate but Edward forced himself to take stock as he undressed. Long hair, windblown, tangled, a little sticky-feeling at the temples; dark circles under eyes that seemed more red than amber these days. Skin pale as the snow in Briggs but Edward could spot, as he pulled off first his tan jacket then the darker vest, discolorations of his flesh. Bruises and scars marked his body as he divested himself of his shirt and stepped out of his trousers and underclothes. Edward stared sullenly at his image, metal fingers tracing the scar that crossed the right side of his chest; a stellate hole that punched through his lower left side; a slice that came just below his ribs, where a suit of armor that had been two brothers attacked to kill. There were others, the ribbon of rose around his upper left thigh, banding his leg just above the wrap of silver; various, lesser marks – a dent in his skull, mostly hidden by his bangs unless the wind caught them just right; a crescent that curled around the heel of his left hand; a puckered line that made a lazy ‘s’ down his right calf. 

He suddenly understood why Winry had punched the mirror. Edward felt the desire to smash his reflection, too, but restrained himself. It didn’t matter, he thought, shoving the anger beneath the apathy that had come to rule his life. He raised his hands, staring at them blankly for a few seconds, then shook his head hard, scattering what few thoughts lingered. There hadn’t been enough alcohol tonight to consume his memories. 

Starting the water in the shower, Edward tested the temperature with his left hand. The heat registered a split second later. With a shudder, Edward stepped into the shower. The water stung, like needles pricking his skin, and he gritted his teeth until his body adjusted to the sensation. Like the refrain of a song, the thought, ‘Al can’t feel this,’ ran through his head. Edward jerked at the memory, at the mantra he’d kept with him since his brother was a suit of armor powered somehow by a boy’s soul. Somehow managing to keep from pounding the tiled wall, Edward slowly slid down it instead, hunching in the corner of the tub as the water rained down on him. 

* * *

It wasn’t until after Winry closed the door on the young man sent up to deliver her coffee and robe that she realized how long Edward had been in the shower. Winry knocked sharply, robe in hand, and, when she didn’t receive an answer, twisted the knob to open the door. Steam billowed out in a rush, nearly blinding her with its moist heat and she made a face, waving it away. “Ed? I’ve got your robe.” 

His answer came in a funny little sound, making Winry frown. She took a step inside the bathroom, concerned when she didn’t see Edward’s shadow through the shower curtain. “Ed?” Hoping he hadn’t fallen, she pulled the curtain enough to peek inside, spotting Edward huddled up against the back wall of the bath. Her breath snarled in her throat, feeling like it got caught on barbed wire and stuck there, and Winry swallowed reflexively. “Ed?” His name came out as a squeak, the sound of it making him flinch. Winry wondered if he even remembered why he came into the bathroom in the first place. 

Leaning the other direction, she turned off the shower and plugged the drain, letting the tub fill with water. Winry shoved the curtain out of the way, taking towels down and setting one on the floor. Opening her travel kit, she found her shampoo and knelt down on the towel next to the tub. “Ed,” she said quietly, pitching her voice just to be heard over the rush of the water, “Ed, turn around, okay? Let me wash your hair.” 

He moved obediently, limbs unfurling in a jerky, hesitant manner, his head still bowed. Winry caught herself from gasping. New scars mapped his body, ones she didn’t remember, and bruises and scrapes told her more than she wanted to know about what Edward had been doing since the last time she’d seen him. Winry tried hard not to think about the scabs running in parallel streaks down Edward’s back or who might’ve left them there. Those were minor compared to bruise that bloomed along his ribcage under his left arm and the scrape that rouged the lower right side of his back. His automail, her handcrafted pieces, had dings in the plating and a warped place on the left leg, just above the knee joint, that let Winry know Edward had used alchemy to repair it.

She poured some of the shampoo into her hands, rubbing it between her palms to start the lather and warm it some, and began working it into Edward’s hair. As her fingers rubbed his scalp, Winry could feel the tension bleeding out of him. A low moan escaped him and his shoulders slumped as he turned his head into the massage. Winry was reminded of Den and she couldn’t help a wry smile at the comparison. After rinsing his hair, she grabbed a washcloth, soaping it up. She scrubbed carefully around the bruises and scrapes, leaning in close to see if the scabs on Ed’s back were infected. Rounding his spine, Edward sighed, and Winry tried not to think about when he might’ve last been offered any type of physical comfort. Swallowing hard, she shoved back the memories of the last time she’d touched Edward, when he’d told her of Al’s death, though it seemed as if her hands still stung.

“Lean back, Ed,” Winry managed to say past the lump in her throat. “Let me wash your chest.” 

“You don’t have to,” Edward mumbled, even as he settled back against the tub wall. He tugged at the cloth in her hand. “I’m okay, Winry.”

She bit her lip, not wanting to blurt out the contradiction that begged to be said. Winry reminded herself that she didn’t know this Edward. Letting him have the wash cloth, Winry pressed her hands on the rim of the tub, about to stand up but Edward put his hand on top of hers. “Don’t,” he said, and Winry wondered at the pleading note in that one word. She sank back down beside the tub as Edward took his hand away, twisting the washcloth. “I,” he took a deep breath, his head lowering, wet hair shielding his face from her sight, “I’m sorry.”

Edward apologizing was not something Winry expected though she didn’t know what he was sorry for – Al’s death? What had happened this evening? Shaking her head, Winry murmured that it was okay, even though she wasn’t sure what she was absolving Edward of. Still, she could tell he was softening, becoming the boy she once knew instead of the automaton she’d found in the cemetery. “Ed,” Winry ventured, laying a hand on left his shoulder, rubbing it slowly, then letting her fingers drift to the edges of the bruise under his arm, “what are you doing?”

There was a long pause before Edward said, with a faint hint of his past slippery humor, “Taking a bath?”

Winry just managed to keep from screaming at him. Instead, her hand moved over his skin, hesitating on a newer scar, one that glowed angry rose, with the skin bunched up under it. “Trying to kill yourself?”

Edward stiffened, his body turning to stone under her hand. “It’s not any of your business, Winry,” he said tightly. 

She curled her lip but kept her hand on that ridge of flesh. “It is, too,” she insisted. “It is when you’re sitting in the bathtub of my hotel room, when you’ve embarrassed me in front of the hotel staff, when you’ve done such a stupid thing, Edward.” Winry fingered that scar like she was blind and it was her only contact to the outside world. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Edward tossed his wet hair back, giving her a glimpse of hollow eyes that were rapidly filling with anger. Good. An emotion well suited to him, one that she understood rather than this placid desperation. 

“It does matter,” Winry said in a hiss. “Do you think Al would want you to follow him to the grave?”

Edward reared back hard at that, the back of his skull rapping off the tile wall behind him. Fury ignited him, shoved him partway out of the tub, so he loomed over her, a patchwork man of scars and bruises and silver steel and gold, and Winry glared up into the face of his rage when he reached down, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a shake. “Shut up!” he snarled, “you don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?” Winry shoved her left hand up into his face, making the gem on her finger wink in Edward’s eyes. “Don’t I know what it’s like to want to die because he’s gone?” She dropped her hand, looking away. “Of course I know what it feels like, Ed,” Winry said tiredly, more bitterly than she wanted to, “I wanted to lie down and die, too, but I knew he wouldn’t want that.” Dashing her hair out of her face, Winry raised her chin deliberately, facing Edward’s anger. “And he wouldn’t want you actively chasing death, either.”

“I’m not,” Edward grated out. “And you still don’t know anything about it.” Throwing down the washcloth, he stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel and rubbing his hair roughly, completely ignoring her.

Winry stood, her legs feeling like they’d dump her for kneeling on them so long but she managed to stay upright. “Ed, you don’t have to say a word.” She let out a little sigh, indicating his body with a gesture. “That talks for you. You’re underweight and you haven’t been back for any maintenance in…well, a long time.” Winry said quietly, “You’re drinking. You never drank before.” She touched his back, her fingers resting lightly against the series of scabs that scraped parallel to his spine. “You’re letting someone hurt you. Ed,” Winry took her hand away, “you’re hurting yourself deliberately. I know what that looks like.” 

He glanced at her from under the towel, a flash of a golden eye that vanished beneath messy hair. “Just let it go, Winry.” The rumble in his voice sounded more resigned than angry at this point.

Clasping her hands together, Winry murmured, “I can’t, Ed.” She looked at him through her bangs. “Isn’t it enough, that we both lost our parents and Al?” She hit a plaintive note. “I don’t want to lose you, too.” 

Startled, Edward looked at her, actually looked at her, his eyebrows reaching up into his tangled bangs, hands stilled from moving, the rumpled towel dangling in his grasp. “Winry.” His throat moved and he turned away, rubbing the towel over his chest and whatever he might’ve said was lost in the frantic motions of his scrubbing. 

“You made me a promise, Ed.” Winry waited until he’d dropped the towel to his midsection to poke him in the arm. “You promised me.”

The sudden silence of the room made it easy for her to hear Edward grinding his teeth together. “I break promises, Winry. I break them and I lie and I’m not,” he whirled on her, snarling, “not the boy you knew, all right? I’m nothing you should concern yourself with. Nothing, do you hear me?” He pushed past her, going out of the bathroom door and Winry thought for a hysterical second that he would run out into the hall, with just a towel on. Casting around, his ire rose again. “Where are my clothes?”

“I sent them down to be washed.” Winry followed him through the door, leaning against the frame. “They were filthy. Like you.” She reached out, grabbing his arm, holding onto the automail wrist. “Ed,” she held tight when he tried to twist free, “Edward. It’s not your fault.” Winry remembered her words of previous times, when she’d blamed him. She hoped she could make Edward understand that she’d said them out of her own misery, not because she believed them. “Ed, please. Listen to me.” 

He strained against her grip, leaning toward the door, then abruptly gave up, his chin landing on his chest as he heaved out a sigh. Winry knew she’d have scant little time to get her point across; she could feel the vibration that told her Edward was humoring her but would cut and run at the very first opportunity. She kept from rolling her eyes only by sheer force of will, stepping closer to Edward, giving his arm a little shake. “What happened to Al,” her voice snared and tangled and Winry had to swallow before she could go on, “what happened to Al was an accident, Ed. You have to understand that. You aren’t to blame for it, no matter what I said before. I was angry and hurt and I needed to take it out on someone. You were there. I’m sorry, Ed. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” She slid her left hand down his arm, molding it around Edward’s fist. “I made you my whipping boy. It was wrong, Ed. I want to apologize to you.”

Edward let out a low, whistling sigh. “Don’t, Winry.” He sounded so tired. 

“You need to hear this, Edward.” Winry reached across his chest, taking hold of his opposite shoulder and pulling him around to face her. He tried to avoid her gaze but she pressed in close to him, getting into his face, knowing that he couldn’t avoid her that way, despite how he tried to lean out of her range. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, Ed. I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“Winry,” Edward shuffled but Winry moved right along with him, pressing him into a wall when he tried to back away. 

“I’m a fool, Ed.” Winry released his hand to wrap her arms around his waist, feeling Edward stiffen at the embrace. “I’m a fool and I want you to forgive me.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaling deeply, imprinting, once more, the familiar scent of steel and Ed onto her senses.

He sighed again, getting out, “There’s nothing to forgive, Winry. You were…” Edward shook his head, his hands coming up to her shoulders, trying to push her back without much success. “Winry…I…please. This isn’t right.” Winry growled a little in response. “Not…not that! Winry, I’m naked.”

“I’ve seen you naked before,” Winry grumbled but let him go. 

Edward stepped jerkily past her, grabbing the bathrobe and pulling it on, keeping his back to her. “I’m not eleven anymore, Winry.”

“No,” she said, the comment, ‘but you still do stupid things’ dying unsaid in her mouth. Watching as he tied the robe closed, Winry leaned against the door, making sure Edward was unable to leave. He ignored her to pour himself some coffee, sipping at it judiciously this time. “You look tired. Why don’t you lie down and sleep for a while?”

Mouth twitching, Edward set down the cup. “You’re not my mom, Winry.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “For which I’m eternally thankful. You’d have given me grey hairs and wrinkles.” 

The sneer was pure Edward Elric, as eloquent as his long ago rants about being referred to as short never were. He let that speak for him, his gaze now steady. He almost seemed easy around her again, as easy as he could be, and Winry wondered how much of that was influenced by residual effects of alcohol and how much by her touching him earlier. Whatever the reason, Winry felt a sudden lightening of her spirits and she pushed off the door, coming to join him in the main part of the room. She couldn’t help but smile, pointing at the sofa. “Go lie down.” Clasping her hands together like a little girl, Winry added, “I’ll give you one of my pillows and a blanket. It’ll be like when we used to have sleepovers when we were kids.”

Letting out a sigh, Edward glanced away. He toyed with the handle of the coffee cup, finally saying in a low voice, “Someone’s waiting for me, Winry. I should probably go.”

“Wearing just a bathrobe?” Winry couldn’t help blurting it out, earning another scowl for her words.

Pressing his palms together, Edward then touched the robe, transmuting it into a shirt and pair of pants. He opened his hands, challenging Winry with his eyes. 

She folded her arms. “You’d freeze before you got ten steps out of the hotel, Ed. There’s an ice storm out there. Call your,” her tongue seemed to freeze to the roof of her mouth for a second then she managed to say, “your friend and tell her that you’re not coming home tonight.” 

Edward sighed again, leaning his palms on the top of the table. “Winry,” he said, his voice low. She could almost see him running through what he might say to her. “I’ve caused you enough trouble,” was a bit of a surprise. “I should leave.”

“You’re not going out into this storm, Ed.” Winry blocked his access to the doorway again, ignoring the eye roll. “Have you heard anything I’ve said to you?” Gentling her voice, she repeated, “Ed, I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“You’re not.” The lie hung between them like a ghost. 

Winry’s response was a bitter laugh. “Right.” Stiffly, she moved past Edward to sit on the bed again. “You’re determined to kill yourself but that doesn’t translate into me losing you.”

“I’m not,” Edward hissed between his teeth then seemed to remember that there were other patrons trying to sleep and the fight drained out of him. “Think what you like, Winry, but I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Then what is it you’re doing, Ed?” Winry tried to keep the misery out of her voice and failed. “Tell me.”

There was a long pause and finally, Edward snapped out, “I’m living the best way I can, considering that the person who meant the most to me died in my arms.”

* * *


	3. One Year, Three Months

The word had come from the military and Winry wondered if Edward would’ve even bothered telling her that he needed her expertise without someone’s interference. She’d packed up her kit and been on the train to Central City the next day, thinking that some things didn’t change. It was when she was met at the train by a young man she didn’t recognize that Winry realized that sometimes, they did. 

She didn’t know who’d sent her a driver nor did she question it. The young man cast glances at her in the rear view mirror, his curiosity obviously getting the better of him when he asked, “So, you’re the mechanic?”

Winry bit back the reply that wanted to come out, instead managing a polite, “Yes, I am.” 

“Huh. Not what I expected.” His eyes lit up a little, letting her know that he was smiling. “I’m First Lieutenant Storch. I work with Lieutenant Colonel Elric. Well, not under him or anything.” Storch shifted in his seat. “Is it…is it true what they say about him? The Lieutenant Colonel, I mean?” 

“I don’t know, First Lieutenant. I don’t live in Central City. I’m not up on all the gossip.” Winry managed to make it sound less than cutting.

“You know,” Storch’s dark eyes reflected in the mirror, holding hers for a few seconds. “That he killed his brother.”

Everything went white for a second and Winry thought the roaring sound might be from a locomotive, bearing down on them. When it cleared, she found herself clutching the seatback in front of her, knuckles tight enough that it seemed the bones might break through the skin. The echoes of a thunderous, “Who the hell said that?” rang in her ears and Winry realized that the lieutenant stared at her with widened eyes. 

“I…it’s just gossip, ma’am,” Storch stammered out and Winry slammed her fist onto the seat back, making him jump. 

“Don’t you ever repeat that again. Ed loved Al, more than anything. He still does. If you said that to his face,” Winry shook her head, disgusted, “damn it, that’s terrible. Al died in a knife fight he was trying to break up. Ed wasn’t even involved in it.” Her vision seemed hazed with red. “He did everything he could to save Al. Everything!” Her fist thumped a punctuation to the last word. “Whoever told you that, First Lieutenant, doesn’t know Edward Elric at all.” 

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Storch mumbled, hunching into his seat, his fingers rearranging themselves on the steering wheel. 

Fuming, Winry threw herself back into her seat, folding her arms and crossing her legs, glaring out the window. Who in the hell would’ve said such a hurtful thing? Why? She wondered if that was part of the problem. If the military staff actually believed such a thing, it was no wonder Edward was the way he’d been when she last saw him. 

Her fury hadn’t cooled by the time that Storch slowed the car, easing it to a stop in front of a building. Winry opened the door, stepping out into the street before Storch could even get out of the driver’s seat. Taking a deep breath, Winry let the winter air steady her before she actually realized where they were. Slowly, she turned in a circle, glad she’d worn sturdy shoes. Snow piled in dirty drifts along the curb and the buildings were rundown and built almost on top of each other. An apartment building sat in front of the car and Storch gave her a look that seemed almost hostile before schooling it away. “He lives in there,” he said, nodding at the rattrap of a place, a little sneer evident on his face that hadn’t been there before. 

Winry clenched her jaw, wondering what had happened with Edward’s military apartment. This place seemed little better than a hovel. The fire escape looked ready to fall off the building at the threat of a high wind, strips of paint curled off the shutters and the door didn’t sit right on its hinges. As Winry took the first riser of the stairs, she could see that the concrete was cracked and pitted and again, she was especially pleased that she’d worn sturdy shoes. Anything else might’ve sent her crashing down. “Where is his room?” she asked, hand on the railing, surprised that it, at least, seemed to be in decent repair.

Storch jerked his chin. “Third floor. Room seven.” He started to open the trunk of the automobile but Winry waved him off of it. 

“I’m not working here,” she told Storch. “We’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Winry felt his eyes on her as she climbed the rest of the stairs and pushed through the doorway. Inside, the hall felt chill and damp and Winry wrinkled her nose at the faint odor of mildew. She almost wanted to go back out, find a telephone booth and call Edward but knew that wouldn’t do any good. The only way he’d listen to her was if she appeared in person. The sound of someone’s radio turned too loud to a comedy drifted down the hall beyond the staircase and Winry let her gaze take in the remains of a once lovely building. A faded border looped just under the tin ceiling tiles, gold leaf flaked in the elaborately carved grooves in the banister under Winry’s hand. Her mouth turning down, Winry began climbing to the third floor. The stairs were sound, not even creaking, something that made her feel inexplicably sad. She couldn’t help but want to put the building to rights again. 

The third floor boasted motheaten carpeting in the hall and pinstriped wallpaper with a chair rail of dark wood. Winry counted her way down the corridor, stopping outside room seven. She raised her hand to knock only to hesitate, taking a deep breath. It’s Ed, she reminded herself, hating the way her stomach knotted up, and forced her knuckles to rap against the wood. 

Someone walked to the door and Winry knew by the sound of the tread that whoever it was, it wasn’t Edward, and braced herself as the door opened a slot. Cigarette smoke drifted out the doorway, a brilliant green eye wreathed in auburn curls. “Yeah?”

“I’m here to see Edward.” Winry felt pleased that her voice didn’t warp. 

The eye sharpened, the door opening a little farther to reveal a tall woman, barely dressed in a short robe and underwear. Heat spilled out of the room and into the hall. Pushing a curl off her forehead, the woman tilted her head from one side to the other before taking a drag off her cigarette. “Who wants to see him?”

“I was told his automail needs servicing.” Winry managed to keep her fists from clenching. 

The woman’s expression went from confused to delighted, all in the course of looking Winry from head to toe and back up again. “You’re the mechanic, aren’t you?” she all but purred. “Of course you are. We weren’t expecting you. Come in.” She pulled the door open the rest of the way, gesturing with a long arm for Winry to enter the apartment. 

Stepping through the doorway, Winry bit back a cough. The room stank of cigarettes and something infinitely sweeter and more cloying. A record player droned to itself on the other side of the small room and a waterspot stained the ceiling in a peculiar shade of yellow. The furniture seemed in keeping with everything else, a tatty sofa and matching chair; a scarred up table set in a little corner kitchen, bookshelves made of bricks and board. The carpet was worn and the curtains a shade of color that reminded Winry singularly of nicotine. A little desk sat near the window, a jacket hanging over the back of it. The only gleam of color came from an afghan tossed over the back of the sofa, one that Winry knew very well, since she had its mate back home. 

The woman moved across the room to the record player, turning it off so that the music ended in a slow squeal. She spun around, widening her gorgeous eyes, wicked mischief evident in them. “I’ll get Edward,” she promised, and disappeared with in a flurry of her robe, going into another room. Winry heard a door open but not close and forced herself not to react to that additional rudeness. There was a mumble and a laugh and voices together then Edward’s, “What do you mean, she’s here?” erupted and the woman laughed again at the swearing. Winry slowly made her way to the bookshelves, reading the titles for something to do, something to keep her from thinking about what was happening in this apartment. 

“Winry?” Edward’s voice called and he peered around the corner of the doorway, bare-chested, his hair hanging loose and tangled. His expression was somewhere between embarrassed and angry and Winry thought it looked better on him than the hopeless despair she’d last seen him wearing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“First Lieutenant Storch brought me but before that, I got a wire from someone saying you needed some automail repairs.” Winry folded her arms, nearly growling. “Are you telling me that I came all the way from Rush Valley and you don’t need me to fix something?”

“I.” Edward hesitated, jerked his gaze away from her as a hand landed on his shoulder and the woman slinked out from behind him. “My leg’s a little stiff,” he admitted, though his attention was on the other woman, something that could only be classified as growing horror rising on his face. “Josie!” 

She chuckled in response. “Go get dressed, Edward.” Turning a shade of red that would’ve matched his old jacket, Edward let out a strangled noise, ducking back behind the wall. The woman laughed, a throaty, rich, suggestive sound, and Winry tried hard to keep from scowling in response. “Edward gets embarrassed so easily,” the woman said. “I’m Josephine Wagner. And you, you’re the one, huh?” 

Winry eyed the other woman as they waited for Edward to get dressed and join them. “Ed’s mechanic?” she asked, figuring it was a safe response though, from Josephine’s glittering eyes, she wondered if there really was anything safe to say. 

Snorting, Josephine lounged back against the wall, letting her lightweight robe gape open to show skin and underwear, a lot of the former and very little of the latter. She took a puff of her cigarette, blowing smoke rings and fixed Winry with a sparkling glare that somehow seemed more malicious than truly angry. “Winry Rockbell. His,” Josephine gestured with the tip of her cigarette, making it flare crimson, “savior.” The arch way she said the word, the wicked smile playing around her mouth, the way she sucked the cigarette back between her lips, Winry knew that Josephine was toying with her like a cat did a mouse. 

“I’m not anyone’s savior.”

“No, you’d think that, I’m sure.” Josephine languidly tugged her robe closed, tying it haphazardly and Winry couldn’t help but be thankful that she didn’t have to see those rosy bite marks on the other woman’s stomach. “But you’re his fucking little goddess, did you know that?” The question came out a purr, a velvet glove holding a stiletto, and the wound that Josephine’s words left behind only started hurting after the fact. 

Ed, Winry thought, rendered nearly speechless, Ed wouldn’t – couldn’t think of her that way. She frowned as Josephine pushed off the wall, coming closer, reminding Winry of a predator stalking its prey. Cool fingers, nicotine stained, pressed into Winry’s cheek and Josephine leaned in close, her tobacco breath brushing over Winry’s mouth. “I wonder if you taste as innocent as you look?” 

Men carry their weight in their chest and shoulders, women in their hips. Winry turned sharply, blocking with her shoulder and torso, bumping Josephine hard to send her staggering back a few steps. Her fists remained up and tight and Winry faced the woman who laughed like a rolling stream, liquid and bubbly, shaking her head. 

“Kitten has claws,” Josephine murmured, tossing her hair back. She smoothed a hand over the rumpled curls, settling them into place and her face took on a delighted expression as Edward came into the room, buckling his belt. “Edward. Your mechanic and I were just talking.” 

He glanced from Josephine to Winry and Winry saw his shoulders surge up and then fall in a sigh. “Could you have at least gotten dressed, Josie?” 

She lit another cigarette off the first and offered it to him. Winry couldn’t help but feel surprised – Edward didn’t smoke – and a little bit of relief warmed her stomach when he waved it off. Josephine caught her reaction somehow, a little tilt to the corner of her mouth. “Don’t be shy for Winry’s sake, Edward. I’m sure she knows all about your nasty habits.” 

Edward’s face was always too mobile, his eyes too expressive and even years out of childhood, not that he’d had much of one, Winry could still read the shock and anger that dashed over him no matter how quickly he attempted to school it away. “We’re going, Josie,” was all he said, the tightness of the words showing his strain. 

“Oh, you’re not going to work on him here?” Josephine dragged on the new cigarette, blowing out the smoke in Winry’s direction. She pouted, a glorious, sexy moue, one Winry knew she’d never be able to replicate in her lifetime. “But I wanted to watch.”

“No.” The word came out sharp and harsh and Winry couldn’t help but feel a smug relief at Josephine’s obvious dismay when Edward said it. He turned to his lover, touching her shoulder, rubbing his thumb against the silky material of her robe. “I don’t want you to see me like that,” Edward said in a lowered voice, rough, gentle, “remember?” 

Josephine leaned her forehead against his, wrapping her arms around him to pull him closer. “But I want to see all of you,” she murmured back and Winry forced herself not to look away, despite the roiling in her stomach when Josephine kissed Edward. She recognized Josephine’s need to make her feel uncomfortable and Winry wasn’t going to play that game. As if she’d realized, Josephine upped the stakes, nipping lightly at Edward’s mouth, caressing his shoulders, one hand sliding slow and sure down his back to cup his backside. 

“Hey!” Edward jerked away, frowning, glancing from Josephine to Winry and back again, a flush staining his cheeks. He pulled free of Josephine’s grip, muttering something to her that made her laugh, those glittering eyes challenging Winry over Edward’s shoulder as he grabbed Josephine’s elbow and hustled her out of the room. A door slammed somewhere in the little apartment and Winry did her best to ignore the argument, somewhat surprised that Edward managed to keep his voice low enough that maybe the whole building wouldn’t hear him. 

Edward returned a few minutes, tugging a jacket on, gloves in his mouth, a thunderous scowl on his face. He gestured with his head to Winry and she preceded him out the door, ignoring him when he slammed it closed behind them. As they walked down the stairs – slowly, due to Edward’s leg – Winry couldn’t help but study him. The leg wasn’t the only problem, she knew, probably the most serious on outward appearances but she’d noticed in the apartment that the fingers of his right hand weren’t moving with the speed they should’ve. Something more to look at, she thought, trying to wash away the thoughts of Edward and Josephine and what they might’ve been doing in that dank little room on the third floor. 

The military car still waited out front, First Lieutenant Storch hastening to open the door when they came through the door. Winry had half expected it to be gone, that they would have to walk to HQ but either Edward’s name or, more likely, Mustang’s, carried enough weight that the driver wouldn’t leave them alone in this neighborhood. 

Surprisingly, Edward remembered enough of his manners to hand her into the car first and Winry felt a strange flush of sensation at him cupping her elbow as she climbed inside. It was nothing more than a gentlemanly thing to do but this was Edward, who barely was acquainted with the word, much less the actions of the same. He closed the door and went around to the other side, somehow managing not to skid across the icy street, and climbed in. Storch gave them both an unreadable look in the rear view mirror and Winry scowled back at him, making him avert his eyes. He started the engine and the car rumbled and shook for a second then smoothly pulled away from the curb. 

Edward leaned his elbow on the arm rest, staring out of the window, so all Winry could see was his messy ponytail and the gleam of sunlight on his cheekbone. She folded her hands in her lap, looking out the window on her side of the car. “I have a room rented,” she said, thinking that her voice matched the brittle cold outside, “and you can take us there.” Giving Storch the address, Winry settled back into her seat. She had no doubts the military had mechanics and a place she could use on base but she felt uncomfortable with that. She was used to tinkering on Edward almost anywhere; hospitals and hotels and even out under the stars, with Al holding a flashlight while Edward swore and she complained about him making it impossible to do quality work. 

How long ago had that been? Winry couldn’t even remember. After Briggs, sometime. Before Al died. She ran her thumb over her finger, feeling the smooth indentation where her engagement ring used to rest. Closing her eyes, Winry wondered when she’d run out of tears. Had it been in the hotel just a few months ago? Had she cried since then? 

The sound of the car door opening called her back to the present and Winry shivered at the draft swarming in from outside. Glancing automatically to her left, she caught sight of Edward climbing out of the car, nearly losing his balance. His grip on the door handle kept him from spilling to the ground and Winry heard the muttered curses under his breath. The corners of her mouth tipped up, some things were inevitable; Edward would always break his automail, he would always swear like he’d been raised in a bar, he would always blaze up in her mind’s eye, a living flame, even if it seemed like now, he was guttering, about to go out. 

Winry shook her head. No. Not Edward. She ignored the little voice that reminded her of the scars she’d seen, of the fight they’d had. She saw Edward pull himself up, meeting her eyes, and Winry felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. 

“Be careful getting out,” he muttered, dropping his gaze and slamming the door. 

Winry made Storch help carry her tools into the hotel and up to the room. From the expression on his face, he wanted to say something to her about it but Edward’s rank kept his tongue in check. For his own part, Edward slumped against the wall of the elevator and Winry couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d ridden in one together. She wondered if Edward had any memories of that night and realized she was both afraid to ask and wanted to know. Not that she’d bring it up with Storch around. He was giving them both looks that made her hand itch to slap him and she wondered just what sort of rumors would be floating around the military after today. 

Not letting Storch escape as soon as they’d reached her room, Winry had him set out her tools. It gave her a sort of a grim satisfaction to watch him shift the heavy luggage around until it was in the perfect position for her use. Edward stood in front of the window, ignoring it all, though he did once glance over his shoulder, his expression questioning. Winry just rolled her eyes in response when Storch wasn’t looking. As the first lieutenant started out the door, she turned to Edward, her hands on her hips. “All right, what did you do to my automail this time?”

“Got into a fight,” Edward grumbled back at her as the door closed, leaving them alone in the room. 

She stabbed a finger at the chair she’d had Storch move to the center of the room. “Get out of your clothes so I can take a look.”

Obeying sullenly, Edward tossed his jacket onto the bed, stripping the rest of the way while Winry tinkered with the radiator to make it work. The heat rose thinly at first then began pumping out warmth. Winry remembered Briggs Mountains and switching Edward’s regular automail out for the northern use type. How warm that room had been, even with Mr. Kimbley staring at them. At that time, she hadn’t realized she shouldn’t trust the military. Or, Winry thought to herself, not the military then. The shake ups that had happened since Alphonse got his body back – she shook her head, willing that thought away but it stuck – how the brothers’ search to get their bodies back provided the catalyst for what happened in Amestris. And how many people realized it? Just a handful, really; maybe twenty at the most. 

“Ready.” Edward was in the chair, his leg propped on the stool in front of him. Winry noticed the goose bumps on his shoulders and stripped the blanket off the bed, covering him with it. 

At Edward’s quizzical glance, she shrugged. “I’m sure Josephine would be upset if I sent you home with a cold.” 

He snorted, looking at something in the corner of the room. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

Winry touched his shoulder lightly. “I’ve seen worse.” Turning away before Edward could question her, she picked up her gloves, pulling them on. She tied on a work apron and took up a screwdriver, ready for work. 

In near silence, Winry disassembled Edward’s leg, breaking it down quickly. It seemed creepy to her that Edward wasn’t fussing or wriggling, telling her to hurry up, he had to be out of here to go off and do something else. When she dared glance up at him, he was staring off at the window, his expression distant. Flesh fingers toying with the edge of the blanket, Edward seemed lost to his own thoughts. Winry couldn’t decide whether that made it easier or more difficult. 

He’d taken good care of his automail since the last time she’d serviced it. Winry felt a faint flush of pride at that; that Edward had taken care of her creations. Something nagged at the back of her mind as she thought about it, carefully maneuvering his leg and foot to figure out what was causing the imbalance. When she mumbled a request for him to wiggle his toes or flex his ankle, there was a pause, as if Edward was coming back from his own thoughts, but he always obeyed. 

It took time but Winry finally found one of the problems: a fragment of metal was stuck in the gears that operated the flexing of Edward’s knee. She pried it out, using fingernails and needle nose pliers, setting it aside with a little flourish. “There,” she said, picking up the oil can and squirting some lubricant on the gears. Winry lifted Edward’s shin, manipulating his knee joint. “How’s that?” 

Edward dragged his attention back from wherever he’d had it focused, blinking owlishly at her. “Thanks,” he said, sounding a little hoarse, his expression still a little distant before he trained his attention on Winry. Moving his leg out of her grasp, Ed flexed the knee joint a few times. “Feels good.” 

Winry nodded in satisfaction. “It ought to. You had a hunk of metal caught in the gears, Ed. If you’d gotten into another fight with that lodged there,” she fixed him with a glare. Edward had the grace to look at least a little sheepish. “At least,” Winry went on, “you did a good job with the grill.” Lifting it, she turned it in her hands. “I’m not going to ask you what sort of fight you were in that made you need to fix your leg with alchemy,” pointedly not looking at Edward, Winry kept her gaze trained on the metal, “but I’m glad it worked.” 

“It was just an assignment,” Edward said, “it got a little out of hand.” 

Thinking the answer sounded just a bit too pat, Winry bit her lower lip. She wasn’t sure if anything she said would make a damn bit of difference, though. “And how long were you going to hobble around with your leg seized up?” She fitted the grill back over his shin, quickly screwing it into place. Silence answered her and Winry made a grumpy little sound. The knee plates were adjusted and fastened to the automail before she dared look up at Edward. “Your arm needs work, too. Or at least your hand. Your fingers aren’t quite,” her voice trailed off as she realized Edward was staring at her, his expression inscrutable. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Moving restlessly in the chair, Edward said, “I need to,” he hesitated and Winry moved back out of the way, letting him get up. “Thanks, Winry.” He touched the top of her head lightly as he moved past her. Winry stared after Edward as he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

This is really weird, Winry thought, getting up off the floor and rubbing her hands together. Edward was almost…civil. She couldn’t have helped but to notice the new bruises he bore; the scrapes and marks on his body that hadn’t been there last time. Winry bit her lower lip, leaning her hands on the dresser. There wasn’t anything she could say that would make Ed stop it. He had set himself into this self-destructive mode and Winry wasn’t sure there was any way to turn him off that path. She hadn’t missed that funny smell back at his apartment, one that she knew came from opium, having recognized the cloying scent from the laudanum she and Granny had been forced to give to a few of their patients. 

Shivering, Winry pushed off the dresser to walk to the radiator, rubbing her hands up and down her arms for friction heat. “What can I do to convince you to live, Ed?” she asked softly. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, hearing the door open from the bathroom and Edward stepped out of it, smoothing his flesh hand over his hair. Winry couldn’t help but watch as he moved, fluidly, toward the chair. 

“What is it?” Edward glanced down at himself, making sure everything was tucked back where it needed to be. Verifying that it was, he sat down again, staring at Winry curiously. “Why are you looking at me like that, Winry?”

She pasted a crooked grin on her face. “Just glad you’re moving better.” Picking up her screwdriver, Winry twirled it in her fingers. “Time to work on your arm now.” Edward grumbled and glanced away, a particular grimace on his face. Winry almost paused at the sight of it, the ‘I-hate-this-having-automail-and-it-needing-to-be-maintained’ scowl. A real smile spread across her face in response. “Stop whining. You still need a mechanic, Ed, and you ought to be thrilled that I still come all the way to Central to see you.”

“Huh. You’re just going to charge me triple. I’m still your cash cow.” Edward rolled his eyes up at her through his bangs, nearly making Winry’s breath catch at the familiarity of it all. 

“Admit it, Ed.” She set the screwdriver in place, working the first screw free from the grill, focusing her attention there. “You thrive on the attention.”

“Do not.” Edward slumped in the chair, lips curled in an aggrieved sneer, his chin resting in his flesh palm. “Just get it over with, machine junky.” 

“Sit still, then.” Winry coaxed another screw loose, setting it with the first one. “And relax.” Of its own accord, her grin twisted impishly. “It’s not like you completely trashed my automail. For once.”

Grumpily, Edward muttered, “I’m trying to avoid wrenches to the skull.” His sprawl became slightly more pronounced, his left foot kicking up to land on the footboard of the bed. “They hurt.” He said those words with a petulant tone to them. 

Another screw set aside and Winry had one more to go before she could release the grill on Edward’s forearm. “Didn’t seem to slow you down too much.” She removed the last screw, using the flat edge of the screwdriver to pry the grill free. It popped loose and Winry wondered when the last time Edward had looked inside was. It was obvious he’d taken care of the surface maintenance, oiling the joints and keeping the metal clean and rust free. Winry moved a lamp to get better lighting, figuring she’d need it to do the necessary work. Edward remained quiet as she tinkered, chin still cradled in his flesh hand; eyes, as far as Winry could tell, half closed and locked in the corner of the room. She didn’t dare ask what Edward saw there. 

“I’m sorry.” 

His statement came out of nowhere, startling Winry with its abruptness. “Huh?” When had Edward turned to watch her? He’d shifted the position of his body at some point; Winry remembered giving him a cursory scolding for it. Now he leaned his cheek against his fist, his gaze trained on her hands as they worked on the mechanics of his arm. 

“About Josie.” His chest rose and fell with a sigh. “She’s…exuberant.” 

“It’s okay, Ed.” Winry flashed him a quick smile before bending over his arm again. “Your wiring is frayed, that’s why your finger motion is slow. I really need to overhaul your arm but to do that, I’d need to take it off.” She raised her eyes to meet his levelly. “I can do it in two days.”

“Two days?” Edward made a face. “Do we have to go somewhere?”

“Well, my good equipment is in Rush Valley.” Winry shrugged slightly. “I’m sure that Mr. Mustang would give you some time off.” She lay her hand on his shoulder briefly. “He wouldn’t want your arm to seize up in the middle of a fight.” Keeping to herself the thought that Edward might not mind it in his own right, Winry went on. “You don’t have anything really pressing, do you, Ed?”

The grumbling sounded familiar, too. “Not really.” The admission came grudgingly and Winry was surprised Edward gave it at all. “Nothing that can’t wait, I guess.” His fingers moved in a studied, repetitive motion, his brow furrowing at the stickiness of the movement. “We really have to go to Rush Valley?” 

“Quit whining, Ed.” Winry folded her arms, allowing herself the luxury of an eye roll. “You know that’s where my shop is.”

“Don’t know why you didn’t keep it in Rezembool.” Edward slumped even farther into his chair, picking at the brass studs holding the leather padding to the arm. 

Winry clenched her jaw. “You do too, Ed.” 

The ice in her voice made him recoil and Edward half started from the chair. “Winry, I’m sorry. Really.” He sighed through his teeth, a whistling sound. “I wasn’t thinking, I was just,” hand half raised to her, Edward let it fall back to his side. He dropped into the chair, huddling in on himself. Swallowing, Edward hid behind his bangs, letting his hair fall around his face as he lowered his head. “I just miss how green Rezembool is.”

“It’s not green this time of year.” Winry closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against her eyelids. “It’s not even spring yet, Ed. It’s muddy and wet and the river floods.” 

“I know.” His head bobbed in rueful agreement. “I just think of it always being green.” 

“Besides, I sold the house.” Turning away from Edward, Winry was surprised to see his head snap up in the mirror’s reflection. 

“You what? Why?” His mouth gaped open, his eyes nearly as wide. 

“It was a big house, Ed, for a big family. I’m just one person now that Granny’s gone.” Winry managed to not say anything about Al or about the fact that Edward never returned to Rezembool anyway. “It hurt to sell it, sure, but the couple who bought it already have two kids and another one was on the way. They needed it more than me.” She gave Edward’s reflection a rueful smile. “Anyway, if I want to stay on the top of my game, I need to be in Rush Valley. There are so many discoveries there every day, Ed. The things I can learn there…I couldn’t do that in Rezembool, by myself. It helps a lot, having people there who understand your passion.” 

“Did you need money?” Edward tilted his head, his expression reminding Winry of a whipped puppy’s. “All you had to do was ask.” 

“Ed. No, I didn’t need money. I needed a fresh start, somewhere different.” Winry turned to face him, leaning her backside against the vanity. “It helped. It got me to clear my head. I’ll admit it, Ed, I do miss the house but it’s just a house. I know what I really miss is the way that Granny made me feel, and Al. And you,” she added. “It wasn’t easy to do, Ed, but once I did it, once I made up my mind that I needed to do it, it felt like the right thing.”

“If you say so.” Edward remained unconvinced. Words seemed to be struggling in his throat to escape but he said nothing more, just studied her with a peculiar look in his eyes. “So.” He made the attempt to redirect the conversation. “I guess I’ll come to you in Rush Valley, soon as I can make arrangement for some leave time.” 

“I wouldn’t wait, Ed.” Winry moved back to him, fitting the grill back into place on his arm and locking it into place with the screws. She lightly touched one of his bruises with the backs of her knuckles. “I want you to be able to depend on your automail.” 

“Last time it failed me in a fight, it really wasn’t too bad. I didn’t get beat up nearly as badly as I could have. That’s what he said, at least.” Edward made a little self-depreciating snort. “Not like I wasn’t already bleeding to death anyway.” He didn’t seem to notice how Winry’s knuckles went white on the screwdriver. “Heh. Said that I was a chosen sacrifice. He kneed me in the gut and carried me out of that lab. Funny.” Edward’s metal fingers twitched sluggishly. “I used that against them, that knowledge that they couldn’t let me die. Or they weren’t supposed to let me die.” Winry didn’t like the little smile on Edward’s face. “It almost feels the same way now except I can’t figure out any reason why I should still be alive.”

Fury boiled out of her and Winry rose in one jerky movement, her hand drawing back to slap Edward hard, nearly sending him sprawling across the arm of the chair. “Get out.” She stabbed a finger at the door, pointing with the screwdriver for emphasis. “Get dressed and get out of my room.” 

That weird grin still in place, Edward righted himself to climb out of the chair. “Sure, Winry.” He gathered together his clothing, pulling on his trousers without bothering to turn away from her. Winry forced herself to remain impassive, her arms folded, the screwdriver pressed against her upper arm so tight she was sure its imprint would remain long after Edward walked out the door. Shrugging into his shirt, Edward buttoned it and tucked it in, fastening his belt. “Thanks for the work. Send me the bill, okay?” His voice turned vicious as he said, “I’ll give you a big tip for coming all the way to Central to hit me.” 

Jaw muscles flexing, Winry bit back the scream that wanted to explode out her throat. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. She followed Edward with her eyes as he stomped into his boots and continued on to the door, swinging it open then slamming behind him as he went through. Winry jerked at the sound. The door groaned, swinging open again, the latch not catching from the force of the slam and Winry heard the soft clatter of the screwdriver falling from her grip as she raised her hands to cover her face. 

* * *

Josie looked up as he walked into the apartment, a catlike smile curling up the corner of her mouth. “You’re back earlier than I expected.” Edward tore off his jacket, flinging it at the back of a chair. It hit, sliding off to pool in a damp heap on the floor. The glare he sent her way should’ve flayed her to the bone. Instead, her smile widened with a maliciousness that would’ve made Envy proud. “Didn’t your maintenance go well?” 

Cigarette smoke swirled up out of the ashtray on the table and a glass of some amber, alcoholic liquid sat next to it. Edward crossed the room in three steps, picking up the glass and rattling the ice. He drank the whiskey, ignoring Josie’s protest that he should get his own. Edward realized something was wrong when he lowered the glass and it slid right of his fingers, striking the edge of the table. It shattered, spraying glass and ice. 

“What the hell, Edward?” Josie spat out, brushing at the hem of her robe. What little whiskey left in the glass had splattered her, adhering the silky fabric to her body. Her eyes narrowed sharply. “I thought your little golden girl was going to fix you.” 

She did, Edward almost said but kept that back; Josie could be almost irrational when Winry’s name came up. He’d never actually wanted them to meet. Winry wouldn’t understand what Josie gave him and that was mutual – even if Edward wasn’t sure himself if Winry gave him more than he could get from another mechanic. If he had someone else, Edward thought he wouldn’t be having this problem with his hand. “I’m good to go,” he said finally, when Josie gave him an expectant look. 

“You just can’t hold your liquor.” She gestured at the pieces of glass on the table.

Edward sneered at the comment, making Josie smile again. She crooked a finger at him and he moved around the table, his boot grinding glass shards into the carpet. Leaning one knee on the sofa, his hands resting on the back of it, Edward effectively caged Josie in between his arms. “I can hold other things.”

“You’d better be able to prove it.” Her voice went husky and she looked up at him through her eyelashes. Her eyes reminded Edward of a piece of jade he’d seen once, clouded with paler streaks of green. She was beautiful in a way no other woman he’d ever met was, with her pale, clear skin and pretty, curly hair. Her body was lush enough that even Mustang had given her a second glance when he’d seen her with Edward. She didn’t understand alchemy and when they’d first met, she didn’t even know who he was – which, Edward admitted, had been part of the charm. She’d just made sure he had a drink and was comfortable and that was enough. It didn’t matter to Edward that Josie was a little older than he was – that she was a little more worldly. Hell, they’d met in a bar, when he was trying to get so drunk he didn’t have to remember he’d buried his brother two months and fourteen days previously and desperately wanted to drown out the memories of Winry’s tears at Alphonse’s funeral. 

_Winry_ …Edward shook his head, hard enough to make his messy bangs fly. He bared his teeth, wanting Winry out of his thoughts again. She was part of his past now and, even if Josie didn’t belong in his future, she was part of his present. Josie hadn’t laughed when she realized he’d never had sex before. Edward let her do what she wanted; she had marked him; made him her own. She had more of an impact on Edward than any woman ever had. _Liar_ , the little voice in his head reminded him and his right hand fisted. He realized and forced his fingers to relax. “Oh,” he said, remembering that Josie had challenged him, that he was ignoring her and that was never good, “I think I’m up for it.” He reached for his belt buckle only to have Josie take hold of it first, batting his hand away.

“Let me,” she all but purred, her nimble fingers pulling at the tongue of Edward’s belt. The tugging fired his blood and he bit his lip as Josie dragged the belt from the loops of his trousers. The belt fell to the floor, the buckle thumping on the threadbare carpet. Josie jerked at the belt loops, dragging Edward down onto the couch with her. She dug her fingers into his ass, squeezing hard. “Let’s try you out, huh? Give your parts a workout.” Her smile was icy cold and her fingers felt the same as they slipped up under his shirt. “You’re thinking of her.”

“No.” Edward shivered at her touch. “No, I’m not.” Josie’s fingernails dug into the flesh at the small of his back. “I’m not thinking of her!”

“I can tell by your eyes.” Josie’s mouth tightened and she shoved Edward back. “Get me the belt.” Off balance, Edward nearly fell back onto the table. Josie watched him, her expression dark. “The belt, Ed.” She held out her hand expectantly. “Now.”

Licking his lips, Edward squatted to pick up the leather strap. His right hand didn’t grip it properly, making him grasp the buckle with his left hand. The cold metal seemed to sting his palm. Slowly, he straightened, offering the belt to Josie. She accepted it, gesturing at his torso, flipping her finger up and down. 

Edward started removing his damp shirt, peeling it up over his head. The cool air of the apartment made his skin prickle or maybe that was Josie’s dispassionate eyes, studying him. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” She flicked her finger against the button on his trousers and Edward bit his tongue, hands moving to obey her. He struggled for a few seconds with his right hand before his fingers worked properly. Josie’s sigh made him undress quickly, kicking off his shoes and shucking out of his trousers, underwear and socks in almost one motion. He glanced down, making sure his flesh foot was no where near the ground up glass on the floor. 

Josie doubled the belt, snapping the leather between her hands, making Edward tremble. “Go there.” She pointed to a table, pressed against the wall nearest the door. “Put your hands on the table and spread your legs.” 

Swallowing hard at the sudden dryness in his mouth, Edward moved jerkily to the table, complying with the order. Josie’s harsh little whisper, “You won’t want to think of your little mechanic when I’m done,” sent a shiver down his spine. 

* * *


	4. One Year, Five Months

Edward didn’t know why but it looked like the door wasn’t hanging correctly. It seemed weird but he didn’t really care; it was just a curiosity, the door dangling like that, not quite closed; not all the way open. Just…there. No protection from the world beyond it, just a flimsy barrier that anyone could pass through. It didn’t really matter, he decided, everyone in the building knew who he was and wouldn’t dare come into the apartment without being invited, not since Edward nearly cut off Weinz’ head when he came in unannounced. 

Right now, Edward wasn’t sure he’d care if someone came through the door with a knife of his own. He didn’t think he could actually move from the couch, if the truth be told. His head pillowed in Josie’s lap, he smiled up at her. She grinned back, her lips carmine red, and Edward wondered how she managed to keep lipstick in place when she was smoking that pipe. It wasn’t like Granny Pinako had ever worn lipstick when she was alive. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall Winry ever wearing it either. He tried to imagine Josie’s mouth in place of Winry’s and wrinkled his nose. It didn’t work at all. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Josie offered him the pipe, the sweetly acrid smoke drifting out of the bowl. “Want some more?” 

Accepting the pipe, Edward placed the stem in his mouth, inhaling. He held his breath for a few seconds until the smoke made him cough it back up. Josie took the pipe back from him, tucking the stem in her mouth and sucking on it, her eyes closed in bliss. Edward blinked, watching her, smiling when she set the pipe aside and leaned down, kissing him and exhaling into his mouth. Their tongues twined together lazily, their mouths tasting of smoke.

Edward felt as if he was wrapped in a soft blanket, that there wasn’t any way the rest of the world could reach him. It was just Josie and him and the world beyond the edge of the sofa didn’t really exist. Everything past the tips of Edward’s fingers was blurry, insubstantial even, and he thought he liked it that way. 

He couldn’t remember when he’d felt this relaxed or so at peace. Nothing had the power to hurt anymore. Edward couldn’t even muster regret for Al’s death, much less the overwhelming despair that had chained him down for so long. He didn’t have to shoulder that pain any longer, not here, not now, not as long as he was adrift on the couch with his head in Josie’s lap. 

The dust motes floating through the air sparkled when sunlight hit them, making it seem almost like little flakes of gold drifted through the room. Edward thought he could sail with them; even with his automail, he felt light enough to soar through the air and out the window. Maybe he’d fly all the way to Xing; see Ling, if he was still alive. The twinge of dismay wasn’t enough to destroy his mood but Edward’s mouth turned down at the thought that his friend might not have survived returning home to take the throne from his dying father. Still, other people had died and the world kept moving forward and if Ling was gone, who was he to mourn? 

“You’re thinking too hard.” Josie caressed his forehead, stroking the furrows smooth. 

Later today, he had to give his report to Mustang on his latest visit to Youswell. Edward wondered if Mustang would notice he’d been smoking. He decided he didn’t care. “Yeah, I am,” he told Josie, reaching for the pipe. He took it from her lax hand, setting the stem back in his mouth. He wanted the smoke to carry him away again and, as he inhaled, it did.

* * * 

The afternoon sun spilled in through the open windows, warming the room with its brilliance. Outside the building, spring had reached Central City and everything seemed to be either in bloom or courting. Everything except certain aspects of the military, Roy Mustang thought to himself. He hated to admit that it hurt to see the young man lolling in the chair across from him. He couldn’t let that show, though, and busied himself with the report that Edward had filed yesterday afternoon. “So,” he said, shuffling the papers back into order, “what did you actually find out?”

“Huh?” Edward lifted his gaze away from where he’d been watching his fingers pluck at a stray thread in the cushion of the chair. 

“In Youswell.” Roy tapped the folder. “Your report is pretty bare bones, even for you.”

Slumping even further into the leather chair, Edward’s features settled into a scowl. “There wasn’t anything there.” Without much of his familiar irritation, he added, “And you sent me there on purpose.”

Roy shrugged, folding his hands together. “Someone needed to go and make sure things were proceeding as they should be. The people of Amestris need to know they can count on their military and the new government and, as you had previous experience there, I thought you would be best suited to be our representative.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, how are the people of Youswell?”

“Happy.” Edward sneered back but there was no real heat in it; Roy thought it seemed like the young man was going through the motions. “Healthy. Their mines aren’t bringing in shit but at least they own them now. It’s their land to live and die on.”

“Do you envy them that?” Roy asked without a hint of caution, wondering if Edward would answer.

“Be stuck in some rag tag little town with no real resources?” Edward snorted. “Hell, no.” He started to get up but Roy waved him back down. With a belligerent sigh, Edward reluctantly obeyed. “Why are you still my commander, anyway? Shouldn’t someone else be in charge of me?” 

Roy smiled without any humor. “I asked for you.” 

The laugh that escaped Edward was sharp and short. “Right.” He sprawled even further in the chair, leaning his head back, his automail foot tapping the floor impatiently. At least the carpet muffled the sound. 

“I did, Edward. Believe it or not, there are people who care about what happens to you.” Roy ignored the teeth that showed in Edward’s face, taking the time to study him closely. Thin, too thin, and Roy wondered how Edward could pack around the automail he still wore. His appearance was gaunt and hollow, a wraith of his former self. The fire that had burned in his eyes seemed banked, close to being doused, and Roy wondered what it would take to bring the Fullmetal Alchemist back. “When was the last time you ate?”

“What?” From the gaping mouth, Roy realized this was the last thing Edward had expected him to say. 

“It’s a simple enough question. Come with me.” Roy pushed his chair out, gathering the folder and moved from around his desk. “I always think better after a meal.” He hesitated at the door when Edward seemed unlikely to follow. “Don’t make me order you, Fullmetal.”

He stiffened and Roy could see Edward’s expression in semi-profile: a lip curled, eyebrows drawing down, mouth opening to make a retort then it all smoothed away and he said sulkily, “I’m not hungry.”

“I am.” Roy tapped his fingers on the folder. “Come along, Fullmetal.” 

He got up then and stomped to the door though Roy couldn’t help feel it was all an act. Edward snatched at the doorknob, striding through the opening. “Fine. You’ll eat. I’ll report. Can we get this over with?” When Roy paused to requisition a car, Edward nearly came unglued. “I have to ride somewhere with you?”

“What? You thought I meant the cafeteria?” Roy shuddered. “I know a very good place, not too far away, where we can eat and talk.” He held up a hand to forestall any more arguments despite the imminent eruption. “Try to be polite when we get there, will you? It would be greatly appreciated.”

The drive didn’t take up a great deal of time though, from Edward’s posture, Roy thought that they might be going to his imminent torture. He found himself missing the loudmouthed boy who’d swear and call him bastard to his face. Better than this sullen, hair-triggered young man, who, from all reports, threw himself into his work as if he had nothing left to lose. Roy couldn’t help but notice the way Edward carried his flesh arm, as if it pained him, and wondered what had happened there. Edward never reported on his wounds and, as he had when he was younger, he mostly ignored them and continued pressing forward. The difference being that now, Edward was looking to die. 

Roy knew all too well the signs, that haunted, fixed stare; the stupid stunts. It was probably sheer luck that Edward hadn’t gotten himself killed before now. Sheer luck, Roy amended, or maybe, somewhere deep inside, there was a reason for him to keep on living, even if it was subconscious. 

The driver stopped the car in front of a two story, gated house and Edward almost didn’t get out of the backseat, his expression more animated than Roy had seen in a long time. “What’s wrong, Fullmetal?” he asked. “I said I knew a place.”

“You didn’t say here,” he hissed, looking for all the world like a cat trying to keep from being stuck in bathwater. Roy almost smiled at the comparison but reminded Edward that he could be ordered to attend lunch. With a snarl and a string of vehement swear words – and another admonishment from Roy to watch his mouth, as Elicia might be home – Edward reluctantly pulled himself from the car. 

“There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Roy herded Edward through the gate and up the walk. 

“Can’t believe you brought me here, you bast – “

The attack cut off Edward mid-rant, coming out of the bushes, low and deadly. They didn’t even have time to prepare, the attacker striking Edward at mid-thigh and Roy watched, almost as if everything moved underwater, as Edward’s eyes went terribly wide and his mouth opened to yell as the furry thing seemed to run right up his ribs, toppling the famous Fullmetal Alchemist.

“Get this damned dog off of me!” Edward shouted, pinned to the flowerbed by an over-anxious dog that danced on his chest, barking in his face. The laughter escaped Roy inadvertently and he remembered Riza telling him that Black Hayate had once tackled Edward similarly, with the same success. Swearing impotently, Edward thrashed in an attempt to get the dog to move. It remained on his chest, pointed nose sniffing delicately at his face, ears cocked all the way forward and tail wagging frantically. “Help me, you bastard.” 

The door opened and Roy turned toward it automatically, smiling up at the woman who called, “Sheba?” The dog barked and turned a circle on top of Edward, tail wagging even harder. “Oh, Roy. Edward! I’m sorry. Sheba, come this instant.” Gracia walked down the steps as the small dog dashed over to her then back to Edward, now sitting up, as if to proudly show off the prey she’d brought down. “She’s a little over-exuberant. With Elicia in school now, she gets lonely during the day. Sheba, leave Edward alone. Sit.”

The dog dropped obediently onto her haunches, tongue lolling in a doggy grin. Edward gave the animal a sulky look as he picked himself out of the flowers. “Sorry, Mrs. Hughes,” he mumbled. “I can fix this.” 

“No, no, that’s all right.” Gracia smiled. “It’s relaxing for me to work in the garden. Please, both of you come inside.” She held the door for both men, making no comment as Edward brushed off as much of his back as he could reach. Roy rolled his eyes at the flower sticking out of Edward’s braid but said nothing, figuring that the younger man would screech when he found it later. Gesturing for Edward to precede him inside, Roy tapped his finger on his lips as he passed Gracia, cutting his eyes toward the flower. Gracia’s eyes widened and she covered her own mouth, holding in a laugh as the dog danced around their feet, skittering down the tile hall after her new best friend. 

“Hey!” Edward yelped at Sheba as she bounced up, her paws hitting his backside, making him stumble.

“Sheba!” Gracia shook her head at her pet. The curly tailed dog wagged her way back to Gracia, though her bright eyes watched Edward closely, waiting for another chance to pounce. “Down, girl. I’m sorry, Edward. I think she’s taken with you.” 

“A common happenstance, from the stories I hear,” Roy said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edward glared over his shoulder at Roy, hackles obviously rising. 

“Just that dogs seem to like you.” Roy gave him a curious look. “What did you think I meant, Edward?”

He subsided with a grumble, not elaborating. Gracia glanced between the two men and shrugged slightly at Roy. “Why don’t you both have a seat in the dining room? Lunch is ready.” She gestured them through an open door to a table set with three places. Freshly baked bread had been sliced, butter still evident on the crust and rolling down the sides. A tureen of soup steaming gently in the center of the table. Cheese and crackers were laid out along with a tray of pickled vegetables. 

“This is lovely, Gracia,” Roy said, completely surprised. When she’d asked for him to bring Edward to lunch, Roy had not expected her to put on something like this.

Her dimple showed, the one in her left cheek that Maes used to expound on a daily basis, as Gracia smiled fondly. “Thank you, Roy. Both of you sit down and I’ll get us something to drink. You still prefer your tea black, don’t you, Roy?” At his nod, she turned that sweet smile on Edward. “What about you, Ed?”

“Black is fine,” he said, sounding more sullen than subdued but he managed to tack on a, “Thank you for going to the trouble, Mrs. Hughes.”

“It really wasn’t any trouble, Ed. Go on, have a seat. Or do you want to wash up, since you’ve been playing with Sheba?” Edward admitted he should wash up and was directed to the bath. Once he was out of earshot, Gracia shook her head at Roy. “He looks,” she said, her voice hushed. 

Roy nodded grimly. “I know. I hoped that bringing him here might be better than trying to talk to him at the office.”

“Winry said that she tried to talk to him when she was here last, working on his automail.” Gracia’s gentle countenance fell into a worried frown. “She said they got into a fight and Ed stormed off.”

“Not surprising.” Roy kept his voice low, his gaze trained on the doorway. “The only way I got him to cooperate is because I outrank him.” The corners of his mouth twitched down.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad.” Gracia dished soup into the bowls, keeping her own eye on the door. “We can’t let this go on, Roy.”

“Short of locking him up,” Roy muttered, shrugging slightly as Gracia gave him a wide-eyed stare, “I’m not sure what we’ll do.” He forced a casual smirk as Edward came through the doorway. “Oh, good. I was starting to wonder if you’d fallen in.”

Edward’s sneer lacked its usual vehemence and he slid into his chair without replying to Roy. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hughes. Someone’s trying to bait me.” He couldn’t quite get his metal fingers to move properly to pick up the spoon for his soup and reached across with his left to grab it. “I’m going to be a better man and ignore him.”

“I appreciate that one of you, at least, has manners.” Ignoring Roy’s pout, Gracia poured tea for them all and passed the cups around the table. “It’s nice to have company for lunch though. With Elicia at school, it seems very quiet around here during the day. I think I need to find myself something to do.”

“What plans do you have to occupy yourself?” Roy took a sip of his soup, savoring the flavor.

“As I said, I like flowers,” Gracia said quietly. “I wondered if perhaps I could get a job in a flower shop.” She raised her teacup to take a sip.

Edward stirred the soup with his spoon, seemingly lost in the designs made by the swirling liquid. Contrary to his comment about being a better man, he had propped his cheek against his metal palm, his eyes half closed. Edward looked worn to a nub. Roy thought that, given the chance, Ed might fall asleep in his bowl of soup. Not that it was a bad idea, except for the possible drowning. Roy figured there would be people disappointed if Edward drowned in a bowl of soup. It wasn’t fitting for a hero of the people.

“What about you, Edward?” Gracia’s question brought him back from wherever he’d gone, mentally. “Do you have any plans?” 

“Hmm?” He blinked at her owlishly for a few seconds then the question seemed to reach him. “I don’t know. Guess I don’t really have any.” Edward stirred his soup, finally bringing the spoon to his mouth to taste the broth. 

“You don’t want to stay in the military, do you?” Gracia glanced from Edward to Roy, as if making sure that he was in agreement with her line of questioning. He gave her a quick, one-armed shrug in response. 

Edward dipped his spoon back into his soup bowl. “I guess.” He sat a little straighter, wiggling in the chair as if to get comfortable. “I mean, it’s a job, right? Everyone needs to work and it’s not like it was. People still hate State Alchemists but I ran into that before.” 

“Maes always thought you’d have something to do with changing that attitude.” Gracia’s voice was full of fond remembrances for her late husband. 

“Edward?” Roy made a polite but scoffing noise. “I know he got into a lot of fights. Still does, if those bandages mean anything.”

“I haven’t been in a fight in a while.” The protest was mild though Edward’s expression turned bitter. “Not one that left any bruises, at least.” 

Roy and Gracia exchanged another look. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and reached for a slice of bread, tearing it in half and dipping it into her soup. “I know Winry was in town recently. Did you get to see her?” 

“Someone called her into town to do some work on my automail.” Edward shot Roy a look from under his bangs. 

“Then she must be slipping. There’s something wrong with your hand.” Roy nodded at the prosthesis in question and Edward’s inability to even hold his spoon.

“The hand’s fine.” The words came out curt and cold and Gracia’s eyes widened at the harsh ring of them.

“Edward, it’s not working correctly.” 

Before Roy could say any more, Edward raised his metal hand, spreading the fingers then clenching them. The clack of the plating sounded loud in the still room. “It’s working just fine.” He brandished his fist. “See?”

“Edward.” Gracia gave him a stern frown, shaking her head once. “Roy is concerned about you. So am I.”

“There isn’t any reason to be.” The tone in his voice, the way Edward slumped in his chair, reminded Roy of the irritating brat Edward had been when younger. “I’m fine. The automail is fine. Everything is fine.” 

“If everything is fine, why do I feel so worried for you?” Gracia scooted her chair back, coming around the table to lay her hand on Edward’s shoulder. “You look exhausted, Ed. You’re skinny.” She twined a finger into his hair. “When was the last time you washed your hair?” 

He leaned sideways, pulling away from Gracia. “Don’t know. Youswell. Wherever that bastard sent me.”

“You can’t even remember your missions?” Gracia laid one hand on the table, the other on the back of Edward’s chair. “Edward,” her voice trailed off in dismay. “What are you doing to yourself?” 

He shoved away from the table at that question, nearly knocking the chair and Gracia over. “Edward!” Roy snapped, reaching for the young man. “Behave yourself! You are not a child.”

A sneer curled Edward’s lip. “Then stop treating me like one. If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He stabbed his automail index finger at Roy. “You, too, Mrs. Hughes. I know Winry put you up to this. She’s worried,” he practically spit out the word, “about me.” Edward shook his head. “Tell her not to be. I’m not her concern any more.”

“Why shouldn’t she be worried, Edward?” Roy raked his eyes over the younger man. “It’s not like you aren’t actively trying to get yourself killed.”

“I have my own concerns for you.” Gracia didn’t give Edward a chance to respond to Roy before she lit into him. “You’re obviously hurting yourself. Did you think that people wouldn’t notice?”

Making a rude noise, Edward took a step away from them. “I expect people to let me live my life the way I want to.” 

“Because you’re doing such a good job of it?” Roy followed Edward, feeling Gracia trailing after them. “If you want to kill yourself, Edward, don’t do a half-assed job of it. If you’re determined to follow your brother into the grave, then do it. Don’t drag it out and make the people who care about you suffer any more. Get it over with.” 

Edward’s lack of reaction scared Roy more than he wanted to let on. “Okay,” the younger man said lightly, turning on the ball of his foot. “Mrs. Hughes, thank you for lunch.”

“Edward, stop.” Gracia somehow made it past Roy, catching hold of Edward’s arm before he could leave. “This isn’t right.” Her voice gentled as she lay her other hand on his shoulder. “I know how you feel, Ed, I truly do. It hurts so much, doesn’t it? And you’re trying to be strong but it just feels like you’re so weak and like there’s no reason for you to go on.” She stepped closer, shifting her hands so that they both rested on Edward’s shoulders now. “Every day, you wake up and you think, ‘why didn’t I die in the night? Why am I still here and he isn’t? Why couldn’t it have been me?’ Every night, you try to figure out a way to sleep.”

Roy couldn’t tell if she was getting through to Edward or not but at least he wasn’t struggling to get free. He stared straight ahead, hands still clenched into fists. “I can’t talk about this, Mrs. Hughes.” 

“You have to, Ed. Trust me. If you don’t talk to someone, it just makes it worse.” Gracia smoothed her palms over his shoulders but this time, Edward did break away, shifting his body slightly and taking a step out from under her hands. 

“I have to go.” He didn’t quite look back, but he did turn his head a bit, acknowledging Gracia. “Thank you again for lunch.” Edward didn’t stop this time and Roy heard the young man speak to the dog before a door opened and closed. 

“That,” Gracia whispered, her fingers pressed to her mouth, “that didn’t go very well, did it?”

“Maybe.” Roy embraced Gracia, stroking her short hair comfortingly. “Maybe it’s what he needed to hear.” 

“I hope so.” Gracia leaned into his chest, pillowing her cheek against his shoulder. “I really hope so, Roy.”

* * * 

Paninya sat on the top of the counter, her leg swinging, pretending not to listen to the telephone conversation going on behind her. From the way Garfiel was cocking his head, he wasn’t listening either. Nope. Not at all. 

“…I know there’s something wrong with Ed’s hand.” There was a clattering sound that made Garfiel wince and avert his eyes. Winry, Paninya hazarded a guess, had dropped something. Well, at least it was metal and less likely to break. “I told him that when I was there a few months ago.” A pause and a cranking sound. Paninya risked a look over her shoulder. Winry was racheting something into place, frowning sharply, though her expression slipped into one more of dismay as she lifted her head, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “I would’ve fixed it if we hadn’t gotten into that argument.” 

Paninya exchanged a look with Garfiel. They’d heard about that argument, though it took a lot of wheedling and pestering before Winry would even agree to talk about it. She’d been so…different…when she returned from Central City last time; downcast and angry and snappish even with her customers. It wasn’t like her. Even after Al had passed away, Winry had managed to remain somehow upbeat enough to deal with her clients, though Paninya had often wondered how much that had cost her friend. It seemed to her that dealing with Al’s big brother might be more than Winry could handle. 

Paninya had considered suggesting that Winry just drop all contact with Ed but some bond remained between the two; something indefinable, at least from Paninya’s point of view. That the Elrics were Winry’s childhood friends wasn’t something easily dismissed; that Al had asked her to marry him even harder. But Ed’s place in the picture; well, that was its own problem and one that Paninya, with her self-proclaimed limited social skills, felt unable to puzzle out. What did Winry feel for Ed? Was it still the ties of their childhood friendship, plus the bond she’d shared with Al? Or was it something different? 

There was always something between a mechanic and a customer; something inexplicable. Paninya loved mechanics, all of them. Mr. Dominic, Winry, Garfiel; it really didn’t matter. She saw something wonderful in all of them. Was Winry’s relationship with Ed something like that? He’d come to her with a busted up arm and Winry had pummeled him into the floor for it. She didn’t treat anyone else that way, always offered up a sweet smile, teased the shy ones, worked patiently with the young and the old. Edward Elric got her sharp tongue, her violence, her fury. 

Paninya’s eyes opened wide and she glanced back at Winry again, just in time to see her replace the telephone receiver in its cradle. Winry sighed, a gusty sound that raised and lowered her shoulders, and she took the glove off her right hand to press her palm to her face. “Are you okay, Win?” She swung her legs over the counter, hopping off to go to her friend.

Head lifting sharply, Winry blinked at her, surprise written on her face. “Oh,” she mumbled, a smile slow to come. “I forgot where I was.” 

“What has that Elric boy done now, sweetie?” Garfiel bustled around the counter, laying his broad hand on Winry’s back. “Come here, come here,” he included Paninya with a tilt of his head, “I’ll make us some tea and we can talk.”

“There’s not much to say.” Winry tugged her headscarf off, balling it into her hands, that gesture telling more than any words could. 

Garfiel frowned, guiding her into the little dining area attached to his shop. “Honey, there is, if it’s got you this upset. You sit down and I’ll get that tea brewing.” He made sure Winry was seated before he went into the kitchenette, the tiny room dwarfed by his stature. Paninya curled up in the chair across from Winry, not sure what to say or do. She wasn’t good with words, like Garfiel, but at least she could reach over and lay her hands on top of Winry’s. 

She stopped twisting the fabric, raising her head. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Win.” Paninya squeezed those strong hands. “It’s okay to be angry.” That much she’d learned. It was okay to be angry that her parents died, that she’d lost her legs, that people treated her badly when she was a crippled little girl. It was also okay to be proud of the things she’d accomplished. She’d learned a lot, hanging around with Mr. Dominic and Winry. 

“Yeah, but,” Winry sighed, shaking her head. 

Garfiel pulled out one of the remaining chairs, sitting down. “Honey, what happened? Who was that on the telephone? Someone in the military?”

“No, a friend.” She stared down at her hands, still twisted in the fabric of her head scarf. “Gracia; you’ve heard me talk about her before.” Her hands shifted, her knuckles tightening so they turned white. 

“Honey, honey, it can’t be that bad.” Garfiel took Winry’s hands in his own, stroking them until she released the scarf. 

“Can’t it?” The sound that escaped Winry’s mouth more resembled a dry hot wind clattering through town, rather than a laugh.

“Win,” Paninya shot Garfiel a worried glance, “you can tell us. And afterward, I’ll go to Central and shoot Ed where it hurts.” She patted her leg for emphasis, thinking Ed probably needed shooting and maybe more, if he could hurt Winry this way. 

“He’d probably like that.” Winry took a deep breath, her gaze falling to the table. Paninya bit her lower lip, thinking that didn’t sound like the Ed she once had known. “I don’t know what I should do.”

“It doesn’t sound like you can do anything.” Garfiel squeezed her hands. “If he’s set on this path, Winry, it’s his choice to walk it.”

“I know.” She nodded, her bangs shielding her eyes. “I do know that.” Her voice lowered to a bare whisper. “But it still hurts that he would.” 

* * *


	5. One Year, Six Months, Part 1

The sun shone weakly through the window, its pale light barely enough to make the metal of Edward’s automail gleam. His left hand moved an oiled rag over his right forearm. A little oil canister sat on the table on its own rag, next to a cup of coffee that had stopped steaming some time ago. Edward couldn’t even remember when he’d poured it. He remembered beginning to do the maintenance on his arm but not when he’d started, only that the light hadn’t even been quite as bright as it was now through the window. Did that make it afternoon? He decided he didn’t want to think too hard about it. There was light enough for him to oil his joints and do some polishing and that was what mattered.

Right palm up, Edward watched as he folded each finger down, starting with his pinky. The movement was sticky and hesitant; proof that he needed more maintenance than what he could do on his own. He tried to tighten his fingers into a fist, the mechanism failing, his fingers remaining curled but not folded together. “Dammit.” A mechanic needed to take care of the problem but there were only two he trusted. One of those was dead and the other didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Not that Edward blamed Winry for that. He knew it was his fault. He’d said more than he should have, about things Winry didn’t need to know. Edward sighed, opening his hand. It seemed to take more force than usual to make his fingers move. Oil wasn’t helping. Even using his left hand to manipulate his metal digits didn’t seem to have any effect. “I’m screwed.” 

Slumping back in his chair, Edward tried to close his hand again. It was almost a compulsion to try to make his fingers work properly, even though he knew it wouldn’t happen. _I should call her._ The thought came unbidden and Edward shook his head hard, trying to clear it from his mind. He and Winry weren’t…she’d told him to get out. He focused on that, remembering the feel of her palm crossing his face. Why did that hurt more than when Envy beat him up? No, that was something else that didn’t bear asking, maybe because Edward knew the answer. 

_I let her down._

He hadn’t been able to keep her out of the homunculi’s machinations. He hadn’t been able to keep her safe. He’d never been able to protect her, except that one time, with Scar, and even then, Edward clearly remembered Al was the one who drew Scar’s attention away from Winry, he’d just blocked Scar’s way to get to her. _And kept her from firing that gun._ She would’ve hated herself, Edward knew, if she’d shot Scar, but he’d never been able to really tell her that. _Your hands are meant to heal._ And they’d been shaking so hard, Edward was afraid she’d shoot by mistake, that she’d clutch the trigger and fire off a shot before he could pry her fingers free. _You gave me an arm and a leg._

“And look how I fucked that up.” Edward twisted his forearm, folding his fingers down again, the sunlight glinting coolly over the freshly oiled metal. “Damn it!”

“Talking to yourself, Ed? Isn’t that a sign of insanity?” Josie’s voice drifted over his shoulders before her hands followed, sliding around to cross his chest. She nuzzled behind his ear, the tip of her tongue touching his lobe. 

Edward shrugged, not quite displacing Josie’s arms. Picking up the rag, he ran it over his forearm again. 

“And sulking.” Josie joggled him. “I don’t like sulking.” When he didn’t answer, she dropped her hands away from him. “Ed.”

“Hnmm.” He picked up the oil can, squirting lubricant into the joint of his elbow, flexing afterward. Edward rubbed the rag over his elbow, catching the drips of oil before they fell onto his trousers. The pain came sudden and sharp and Edward jerked away, snarling in response. “What the hell? Josie?” He batted her hand away from his ear. 

“Ed!” She nursed her hand in the corner of his eye. “That hurt.”

“Yeah, well, you pinched me. That hurt, too.” Flexing his fingers, Edward made a face at the slow action. _Winry’s gonna kill…oh, yeah._

“You’re not paying attention to me.” Josie slumped into the other chair, stretching her arms out on the table in front of her and leaning her chin on one of them. 

He glanced over at her then back at his hand. At least his wrist and elbow were still in good shape. Twisting his wrist, Edward groaned aloud at the sluggish response of his fingers to move with his forearm. _Maybe it doesn’t matter._ Mustang hadn’t been sending him on any missions where it was likely he’d get into fights. _Yeah, that did Al a helluva lot of good._ Jaw clenching, Edward shook his head. He was not thinking of Al, he wasn’t thinking of Al. _Not tonight, please, not tonight._ Unbidden, his brother’s face came to the forefront of Edward’s memory, blood rouging his mouth, skin pale and clammy, eyes turning dull as ash. “Fuck!” 

Breaking through his memories, the metallic clatter startled Edward, spinning him in the direction of the sound. A new stain marred the peeling wallpaper, the oil can rolling across the floor, a dent in its side. Josie stared at him, her eyes wide and body stiff in alarm. Almost as soon as he recognized her fear, she moved, reaching across the table to grab his chin, shaking him. “What are you doing?” Her voice wasn’t a scream, not yet, but it wouldn’t take much for the volume to escalate.

Edward nearly spilled out of his chair from the force needed to break free from Josie’s grip. His skin twinged and tingled; proof that her fingernails had drawn blood again. “What does it look like?” He raised his arm, hearing the faint whine of the gears, using it to point at Josie. 

Her eloquent sneer back in place, Josie shook the curls out of her eyes. “Mooning. It looks like you’re mooning over that mechanic.” She spit out the word as if it was a curse. 

“No.” Edward growled back with a shake of his head. 

“You’re not good enough for her, Ed.” Her eyes danced with malicious glee at his reaction to the strike. “She’s left you behind.” Dusting her hands, Josie bared her teeth. “I’d bet she doesn’t even think about you any more. Someone says, ‘the Fullmetal Alchemist’ and your precious Winry frowns,” and Josie put a forefinger to her cheek, miming thinking, “and says, ‘Didn’t I know him once?’ And then she laughs and shakes her pretty blond head, and goes back to work on someone who doesn’t smoke opium or get picked up in bars when he was trying to pickle his liver.”

“I was thinking about my brother.” The words came out like a sudden frost, cold and harsh, and Edward panted after they left his mouth. He didn’t know what Josie saw on his face when he turned it to her, only that her eyes shuttered, her mouth tightened up. 

She folded her arms, her lip twitching. “He’s gone, too.” Before the sudden rush of heat could blot out her voice, Edward heard her say, “He’s gone with your mechanic, Ed, and I’m right here. Make your choice.”

Thrusting past Josie, his chair spinning behind him to smash into the wall, Edward grabbed his jacket on the way out of the apartment. Before he slammed the door behind him, he tossed over his shoulder, “There never was a choice, Josie,” and started for the stairs. 

There were places in Central City where you could buy nearly anything. Edward remembered the police breaking up a ring of kidnappers who stole little kids from the country and sold them for sex. He’d remembered the block of ice that had formed in his belly at the idea that Elicia Hughes might’ve been taken by those monsters. He’d wanted to go to Hughes’ grave; pledge that he’d never let something like that happen to Elicia, but he hadn’t. Bad things happened to people who didn’t deserve it. His mom hadn’t deserved to die; Hughes hadn’t deserved to get shot; Nina didn’t deserve her father turning her into a chimera. 

Al… _oh, Al._

The bar really didn’t have a name or, if it did, Edward had never heard it. Everyone called it ‘the place on the corner’, even though, technically, it wasn’t. He hadn’t really felt like arguing much about it the first time Josie dragged him inside and after he’d been in there a little while, his desire to argue with anyone flagged. A peculiar, sweet smoke drifted throughout the bar, one that had given Edward a headache almost immediately but somehow muting that pain and the others he had, as well. “It’s the atmosphere, Eddie,” Josie had said, waving her arms expansively. “It makes everything better.”

The food, Edward had found out, was laced with opiates and the booze complemented the drugs. He had no idea how it hadn’t been raided by the police yet but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring the law in. Maybe the police already knew, anyway. Enough sens got exchanged at that place that someone had to be getting kickbacks.

Climbing down the stairs to the bar, Edward entered the darkened place. The clouds of smoke were so thick, even the ceiling fans didn’t seem to move them around. He coughed twice after inhaling, the smoke stinging his throat and lungs. Soon enough, he knew the burn would feel pleasant, and certain things wouldn’t matter any more. _Like how much it costs to get a whiskey._ Sitting at the bar, Edward tapped his finger on the counter, the metal digit making a louder noise than his flesh hand would. 

“Edward.” The bartender gave him a nod. “The usual?”

The muscles he used to smile with felt like they hadn’t been given a workout in weeks. “Make it a double. It’s been a long day.” 

* * *

He remembered a warning, though it seemed distant and worn; like a faded photograph, folded too many times. He remembered a voice; remembered his own joy but both memories seemed too far away to make sense now. _I was fast_ , he thought consciously, _I was so fast_. A fist pounded him back into the ground and Edward knew that now, he was far too slow. 

“State Alchemist.” The title sounded like a curse. 

“That’s me.” Edward got his hands under him, almost surprised he managed to get that far without further attack. Spitting blood, Edward gave his opponent a weary grimace. “Dog of the military.” Getting to his knees, he swayed slightly, tilting his head back to look at the woman in front of him. Her size belied her speed and, despite the fact that she was heavily muscled, she moved lightly. Her long face had furrows carved next to her mouth and more plowed across her forehead. Wisps of curly hair haloed her temples. “But you,” Edward swiped a hand across his mouth, wiping away blood and sweat, “what are you?”

“The last thing you’ll see alive.” She charged, her head lowered, hands outstretched. Edward let her come, touching his palms together and dropping them to the rough cobblestones in front of him. The familiar scent of ozone burned his nostrils, though the clear blue glow that heralded transmutations seemed murkier than normal. Edward blinked and the woman crashed through the wall he’d made, almost running over the top of him.

He reeled out of the way, jerking his flesh leg nearly out from under the woman’s stomping foot. The shock of the failed transmutation blurred his focus, even more than the opium he’d smoked earlier. Alchemy failed him and it never had before. His own knowledge, his own understanding, yes. But alchemy itself? 

The roar startled Edward out of his thoughts and he raised his head, eyes widening. She was close, too close, and he didn’t have room to maneuver. “Shit!” Edward flung his body sideways, gathering his limbs under him, trying to get to his feet. Before he had a chance to stagger upright, a hard blow hit him from behind, sending him sprawling. The stones cut and scraped his face, dug into his chest. He couldn’t catch his breath, fingers clenching convulsively, as if he could wrestle the air into his lungs. A foot toed his ribs and Edward tried to lift his head. His vision swam and Edward swallowed hard, hoping he could keep his stomach settled long enough to finish the fight. 

Her foot slipped under his stomach, flipping Edward onto his back. The sudden movement made him moan and clutch at his stomach. The woman swam over him, her long teeth matching her horsey face. A horrific glee spread over her features and her foot lifted, moving slowly as if to be sure that Edward would see and know what was happening. Groaning, Edward tried to scrabble backward but the fingers of his right hand seemed frozen and his left ached too much to work. A salty liquid flooded his mouth and Edward managed to turn his head before the vomit choked him. 

“Pathetic,” the woman said, her foot crashing down on Edward’s automail leg. He cried out at the feedback swarming back through the nerve connections. “What are you, half metal?” She stomped again, making Edward scream. “No wonder you’re so slow.” 

Panting, Edward tried to focus on her. His vision swam but Edward thought he had his opponent fixed in his mind’s eye. As she raised her foot again, he pressed palms together, activating another transmutation when he dropped his hands to his sides. The stone fist rose from the street, knocking her back and away from him. Edward heard a crash and tried to lift his head, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. He felt disconnected from his body, like every movement took twice as much effort. A low growl alerted him and Edward rolled to his side, gritting his teeth at the dead weight of his left leg. 

“You little bastard. It’s because of alchemists like you that I’m this way!” The scrape of leather across stone was his only warning. Her boot struck his hip, knocking him back into the cobblestones. She almost seemed to dance across the street after him, not there, then suddenly beside him. Edward rolled one eye back to look up at her, not even bothering an attempt to raise himself up. “It’s your fault,” she said and her voice sounded strange to him, though he couldn’t say why. Agony bloomed in a new place and Edward grunted at the stabbing in his ribs. The blow flipped him onto his back again, giving him the chance to look up at her. “You’re going to die here, in this alley, alone.” 

“Okay.” Edward smiled up at her through the haze of opium and pain. The copper-salty taste of his own blood filled his mouth and he spat it out. His right arm made a grinding sound when he tried to move it so he let it lay. The fingers of his left hand twitched involuntarily. Edward thought he could see the moon overhead. He hoped it was the moon and not some street lamp. 

“You want to die?” The heel of her boot rested on his stomach and Edward could feel the pressure of it. 

He licked his lips. “Nothin’ left,” a cough racked his body, “t’ live for.”

“You’re just going to lie there? Not even fight back?” The pressure on his stomach increased fractionally. 

“Just do it. Stomp me into the ground.” Edward spat blood up at her. Feedback from his leg crackled up through his body, making his breath catch. “Do it!” The words came out like a sob. “I’m ready.” The heel retreated slightly and Edward reached up, grabbing for the woman’s ankle. “I said it, didn’t I? Just finish me off.” Edward blinked, deciding that it wasn’t a street lamp. It was definitely a moon. “Just….”

There was a sound, distant and strange, but Edward ignored it. The woman above him blurred even more, a scream of rage and pain ripping from her. The weight on his belly increased and Edward thought for a beautiful second that this was it, that all the pain would be over then it abruptly changed. The woman’s face, so far distant, moved rapidly nearer, her expression suddenly clear even with his blurred sight. She was shocked and following right behind that surprise was pain then she crashed into him, her body’s weight spread over him like a human blanket. Edward could hear someone’s breath whistling in his ear and wondered if it was his own or hers. 

“Son of a bitch alchemist.” The words were cold against his cheek. “Had back up.” She laughed, a short, sharp, bitter noise. “Sniped me right down.” 

“No,” Edward breathed out. He felt her body twitch on top of his. “There’s still time.” He closed his eyes. “Please.”

That bitter laugh came again. “No. You live,” she sighed and her body slumped more heavily on top of Edward’s. 

The sound of running boots echoed in the alley. “Sir! All you all right, sir?” Someone was leaning down, grunting as he shoved the woman off of him. “Just hang on.” The man blurred, moving out of Edward’s vision though he heard someone shout, “We need an ambulance, right now!” The man stooped over him again, making Edward dizzy. “Don’t worry, sir, help is on the way. Just,” he hesitated, “just hang on.”

Edward coughed blood, feeling the warmth of it coat his lips. “Don’t wanna.” He smiled faintly, closing his eyes, letting the pain and the moon and all the shouting above him fade away. 

* * *


	6. One Year, Six Months, Part 2

She hated the way hospitals made her feel; small and not in control. The staff always made it seem like an imposition when she asked questions, like they were looking down their collective noses at her. Now she had to come to one, with a military escort, no less. At least that blue uniform might get her some respect. 

The lieutenant followed her to the desk, standing just a little bit behind her, his hands behind his back as she leaned over it. The nurse or whatever she was didn’t even look up, just kept scribbling something in a notebook. Rolling her eyes, she cleared her throat. The nurse raised one finger, not even glancing in her direction. Flinging her hands up, Josephine turned to the lieutenant, furious. “How is a person supposed to find out anything here?”

“Excuse me, ma’am.” The lieutenant moved past her to the desk. “I was asked to bring Miss Wagner to the hospital. Her,” he shot a look at Josephine, then back to the nurse, “I was told Lieutenant Colonel Elric was brought here.”

“Oh.” The woman looked up then, sympathy in her eyes. “He’s still in surgery. You’ll need to go to the second floor.” Pointing with her pen, she indicated the double doors of an elevator. “When you get out, turn right. Follow the hallway to the end and there will be a room where you can wait.”

“Thank you,” the lieutenant said, stepping away from the desk and turning to Josephine. Gesturing, he waited for her to join him. 

Once they left the elevator, the halls seemed to go on forever. The walls were painted a glossy, pale green; something unnatural. Linoleum floors made their steps rap out, echoing softly. The stench of bleach and cleansers, of sickness and death, permeated everything and Josephine wished desperately for something to block out those scents. The sight of the final room brought both relief and dread and Josephine was unable to decide which was worse – that they’d reached the waiting area or that she’d have to actually wait there. 

Her shudder attracted the lieutenant’s attention. “He’ll be all right, Miss Wagner,” the man said. “The Lieutenant Colonel is strong.” 

Josephine didn’t deign to answer that, finding a chair and sitting down. The wood seemed to dig right into her flesh through her clothing and she twitched her lightweight coat around her body. Her skin crawled and she surreptitiously scratched at her thigh, only to stop when she realized the lieutenant was watching. Straightening in her chair, she looked toward the window; was forced to look away from the brilliance outside. Why, she wondered, did Ed have to get hurt now? Why not on one of his stupid missions that would take him out of Central City, so she wouldn’t be expected to wait in a hospital, to find out if he’d live?

The lieutenant buzzed around her like some annoying fly and she waved her hand in front of her face, trying to shoo him off. His words finally broke through the noise in her head and Josephine stared up at him blankly. “What?”

“I asked if you’d like some coffee or tea?” The lieutenant gave her a once over. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, Miss Wagner, but you look a bit peaked.” 

Peaked? She fussed with the front of her coat. Peaked? Who said words like that? “Yes.” Josephine nodded a few times, a curl bobbing against her forehead, feeling like sandpaper against her skin. She brushed it back abruptly. “Coffee, please. With cream. And,” she clawed at his arm without actually touching it. “A lot of sugar.” She moistened her lips. “I like it sweet.” 

The lieutenant smiled in what Josephine guessed he thought was a reassuring way. “I’ll get it for you. Just wait here.” Turning on his heel, he marched off, leaving her alone in the waiting room. 

Fidgeting with the hem of her coat, Josephine glanced around the room. Couldn’t someone have painted it another color than that terrible green? Even white wouldn’t be so bad. Shivering, she pulled her coat tighter around herself. She’d felt so warm earlier, before the lieutenant came to get her. Josephine was sure that the temperature had dropped since she’d left the third floor apartment she shared with Ed. Her shoulders jerked at a sudden sensation, like bugs running over her skin.

“What’s taking so long?” She glanced down the hallway in the direction the lieutenant had gone. Her ears rang with silence and Josephine had to stand up and pace, just so she could hear another noise. Why was everything so quiet? She wanted to scream, drawing in a deep breath then remembering where she was. Biting her lip, Josephine turned in place, going back to her chair and sitting down. She crossed her legs, bouncing her right foot. Lightly, at first, but as her foot moved, her shoe started to slide off. With a curse, Josephine leaned over to grab the shoe, pulling it back on more tightly. Her fingernails scraped across her foot and she bit back another curse – her silk stockings snagged on the ragged edge of a nail. The silk laddered, ripping from her ankle to her calf. 

Edward would buy her another pair, Josephine reminded herself with a giggle, he liked her legs in stockings. He liked stroking his flesh hand along her calves; tickling her ankle. He’d buy her new stockings, in whatever color she wanted, and play with her legs after she tried them on for him. She sobered, realizing that Edward might not be well enough to buy her stockings. Sucking in a breath, Josephine thought it was possible Edward might not make it out of surgery alive.

Rising abruptly, she stared at the window at the end of the hall. “I can’t stay.” Edward was going to die. That’s why the lieutenant had brought her here. The military and its awful little games, with people’s lives. “I can’t stay.” Gathering her coat closely around her body, she slunk down the hall, head swiveling at the slightest sound. Shuddering, she made her way toward a pair of doors, a service exit, freezing there when she heard the voices. “Damn it!” Biting her knuckle, Josephine pressed against the doors, hearing the squeal of protest in the hinges, knowing if she tried to slip through, the sound would alert those coming down the hall. 

“…she should be right down here, Mrs. Hughes.” Josephine spotted the lieutenant, leading someone along the corridor. “I think she’s taking this hard.” 

“It’s very difficult, Lieutenant, to deal with someone you care about being hurt.” A woman trailed behind the young man and, narrowing her eyes, Josephine thought she might recognize the woman. Surely Edward had pointed her out at some military function? She wasn’t really part of the military; even though she’d been there as the date of one of the officers. “Do you know if anyone else was contacted?” 

The lieutenant shook his head, looking back toward the woman. “No, Mrs. Hughes, I’m afraid I don’t.” His eyes lit on Josephine, huddled in front of her escape route. “Miss Wagner!” Smiling, he swept his hand out to her. “I have your coffee and Mrs. Hughes is here to wait with you.” 

Hughes, Hughes, Josephine remembered the name and the woman now. More of Edward’s past she didn’t really care about. “Hello, Mrs. Hughes.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hand still resting on the door’s pushbar. 

“Miss Wagner.” Mrs. Hughes stepped closer, compassion in her gaze. “I’m sorry we have to get reacquainted at a time like this.” 

Josephine looked down at the floor, at Mrs. Hughes’ shoes. She didn’t think they were cheap leather; they looked as if they’d been made particularly for the other woman’s feet. She spotted a mole on the top of Mrs. Hughes’ left foot, a delicate, dainty mole, not one that stuck out but one that could be labeled a birth mark if it were on a girl’s cheek. Josephine wondered if those shoes were going to stomp on her, whether they’d kick her back down the hall to wait for the news about Edward’s death. 

“Miss Wagner? Josephine? Are you all right?” 

Her head jerked up in time to see Mrs. Hughes take a step closer, concern knitting her face. “I need to go,” she said, glancing from Mrs. Hughes to the lieutenant. 

“I know this has to be distressing to you.” Mrs. Hughes reached out a hand and Josephine found herself staring at the woman’s fingernails. They seemed so clean and well-shaped; they weren’t ragged or chewed on. They looked sharp and Josephine wondered if they could slice through skin. “But Edward is strong.”

“He’s going to die.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. The gasp from Mrs. Hughes seemed to bounce off the cold walls of the corridor and strike Josephine in the face. She shook her head a little, trying to clear it. 

“You shouldn’t say something like that, Miss Wagner. Edward is a strong young man. He’s already been through a great deal.” Mrs. Hughes’ voice marched over Josephine. “You’ll see. He’ll be out of this hospital faster than you’d guess.”

Raising her gaze to meet the other woman’s, Josephine said, “He’s going to die.” She grasped the pushbar even more tightly, feeling the frigid metal burning into her palm. “He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. Going. To die.” Stomping her foot for emphasis, Josephine said, “I don’t want to watch him die!” She shoved at the bar, the door squealing in protest. 

A claw hooked in her shoulder, dragging her back around. “Josephine!” Mrs. Hughes scowled at her, her face seeming misshapen and swollen. “Ed needs you and he doesn’t need you thinking that way.” 

She hissed, slapping the woman’s claw away. “He’s going to die.” Her eyes narrowed at the lieutenant standing behind Mrs. Hughes, voice rising as she spoke. “He’s not going to live and I’m not going to stay here and wait for someone to tell me -”

The pain cracked across her face, throwing Josephine into the door she clung to. Gasping, she cupped her cheek, staring up at Mrs. Hughes. “Don’t you say things like that,” Mrs. Hughes was saying, her hands clenching into fists. She trembled, like a kite caught in too high of a wind. “Edward’s going to be fine.”

“Can’t you see?” Josephine shook her head, laughing. “He wants to die. He wants to follow his brother into the grave.” 

The lieutenant interjected himself between the two women, cupping Josephine’s elbow. “I’ll take you home, Miss Wagner.” His hand felt like a slab of meat, wrapped around her arm and she tried to jerk free, only to find his grip was like a cuff of metal. 

“You’ll see,” she said over her shoulder as the lieutenant started dragging her through the squealing doors. “You’ll see. He’s going to die. He wants to die. You’ll see!” The doors closed behind her, effectively cutting off any response from Mrs. Hughes, leaving Josephine in the dim, echoing stairwell with the lieutenant. “She’ll see,” Josephine whispered, lifting her free hand to swipe at the tears in her eyes. They caught in her lashes, making the lighting spangle and fracture. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Miss Wagner?” His hand loosened on her arm and he looked down at her. His face seemed to float far above her, like a balloon.

“I really hate being alone.” 

* * *


	7. One Year, Six Months, Part 3

The hospital loomed in front of her, blotting out everything else in Winry’s sight. It even seemed to blot out the sky. She climbed out of the car, staring up at the building, biting her lower lip. Behind her, someone mentioned something about parking and she heard the car drive away. Winry started when an arm curled around her shoulders. 

“It’s going to be fine.” Riza Hawkeye began guiding her toward the entrance. 

Winry swallowed down her immediate response of, ‘no, it’s not.’ Since the call had come in yesterday, she’d felt only an urgent need to get to Ed, as soon as she could. She’d barely packed, just thrown together a tool kit, shoving some clothing in a bag. She’d chafed at every stop the train had to make, wishing that there was a faster way to travel. The fact that Brigadier General Mustang and Captain Hawkeye met her at the station did nothing to soothe her fear, only heighten it. Riza had held her hand throughout the trip from the train station to the hospital, neither she nor Mr. Mustang saying very much. Their expressions spoke instead, making Winry’s heart sink.

Ed, she thought, had probably given up. She’d known he was trying to get himself killed, committing slow suicide; she just hadn’t thought he’d actually go through with it. Guilt swarmed over her, that she’d left him with inoperable automail, though Winry wondered if that would’ve made any difference in the fight he’d gotten in to.

“He’s strong.” Winry realized that Riza had been speaking while she was considering the building. “He just needs someone to remind him of that.”

Thinking it would take more than that, Winry numbly allowed herself to be guided into the hospital. They didn’t even stop at the front desk, which let Winry know that Riza had been here to see Edward previously. They walked down a hall, the pale mint green walls doing nothing for Winry’s anxiety though she knew that color was supposed to be soothing and restful. The scents of antiseptic and sickness combined to tickle at her nose and Winry felt her stomach clench in reaction. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, had thrown up once on the train and sincerely hoped she wouldn’t embarrass Riza in the hall. 

The corridor that led to Ed’s room seemed a little more dismal to Winry. She swallowed hard, hoping she wasn’t projecting her own emotions on the walls but they appeared darker; colder. Shivering, Winry shook her head. Edward could pull through this; he just needed a reason to do it, right? She only hoped she could figure out a reason to give him.

Gracia Hughes waited for them, a welcome sight. Rising to her feet, she walked a little way to meet them, her hands outstretched. Winry didn’t run to her but a part of her wanted to; wanted to bury her face in the other woman’s shoulder and sob. She contented herself with taking Gracia’s hands and squeezing them gently, letting that gesture convey everything she couldn’t say. Her throat was clogged and words weren’t forthcoming and Winry had to let go of Gracia to wipe the back of her hand across her welling eyes. “Oh, Winry,” Gracia pulled her into her arms, rocking her. “It’s going to be all right.” 

_I wish they’d stop saying that._ Winry thought if she could believe that, it might give her some sort of hope, but she thought Ed might’ve gone too far this time. She accepted the comfort for a few minutes before pulling back, rubbing the heel of her hand under her eyes. “Thanks.” Her voice was little better than a croak of noise. Someone guided her to a seat, though Winry felt like she’d been sitting for far too long and needed to do something. Leaning her elbows on her knees, she stared blankly at the wall in front of her. There were a few doorways a little ways down the hall and she wondered which one was Ed’s room. Would someone tell her? She could hear Gracia and Riza talking and, raising her head at the sound of footsteps, Winry tried to smother her disappointment that Mr. Mustang was walking down the hall, not a doctor. The three of them spoke over and around her while Winry muddled through her thoughts, trying to come up with something to make Ed see that he needed to live.

Someone else joined the group though Winry didn’t look up this time, not until an unfamiliar voice spoke to her. “Dr. Rockbell?” Blearily, she raised her head, seeing a nurse and beyond her, the other three, standing in a little knot. “I’m Nurse Ferrell. I understand that you’re the lieutenant colonel’s mechanic?” At Winry’s nod, the nurse smiled, the kind of faint, worried smile that Winry hated seeing because it never meant anything good. “Would you like to see him?”

For her answer, Winry pushed to her feet, feeling strangely disjointed. It seemed like her feet weren’t working properly or maybe she was floating. She knew that she should’ve eaten something but also knew if she had, she’d have just thrown it up again. Still, it took a few seconds before she was able to follow the nurse, ignoring the concerned look Ferrell gave her. “He’s here in this room. He’s still resting from the surgery,” Ferrell said as she led Winry to one of the doors, opening it and ushering her inside.

Ed looked small and pale, Winry thought, hesitating just inside the door, her hands twining together and pressing against her mouth. Bruises bloomed on his face, bandages cutting through some of them. His left arm was splinted, as well as two of the fingers on that hand. A strange, absurd joy flooded Winry that his hair was still long; that stupid antenna still poked up – they hadn’t had to shave him to stitch up any head wounds. The nurse moved past Winry to pick up his chart, offering it to her. “He was in a rough fight,” she said, her voice low as she glanced at Edward. “His automail leg had to come off. It was nearly destroyed.” 

Winry was used to seeing Ed’s arm in pieces, or not even there. That his leg had been trashed was unusual. She nodded at the nurse, glad that she had the chart in her hands so she could review it herself. It gave her something to concentrate on. Ferrell moved around the room as Winry read; removing and replacing the catheter bag; checking the bedpan. Winry glanced up as she reached the notes about blood in Edward’s urine, seeing evidence of the same in the catheter bag Nurse Ferrell was disposing of. A lavage had been done and, when the blood still persisted in his urine, surgery had been performed to stitch up his bladder. “He’s still bleeding.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Ferrell responded to her comment. 

“Not nearly as much. Doesn’t appear the lieutenant colonel’s kidneys were damaged.”

With a sigh of relief, Winry went back to reading the chart. Edward may’ve escaped needing an organ removed but he still had other injuries. He was lucky that his pelvis wasn’t fractured. His arm and two fingers were broken. His ribs had taken a beating on either side; two fractures on one side, three on the other. Winry thought Edward’s luck stood in for him again that his ribs weren’t displaced and his lungs hadn’t been punctured. As it was, he looked like he’d gained enough new scars to remap his body. 

“How long has he been sleeping?” She handed the chart to Nurse Ferrell so the woman could make her updates to it. 

“The surgery was this morning, around ten, Dr. Rockbell. He should be waking up soon.” Ferrell gestured to a chair; wooden, uncomfortable. “You’re welcome to wait until he does.” 

“Thanks.” Winry didn’t really want to sit, she wanted to pace. She wanted Edward to wake up so she could scream at him for getting into this fight. She wanted to turn back time, so she could fix his arm the last time she’d seen him. Instead, moving the chair closer to the bed, Winry took Edward’s automail hand, not wanting to jostle his broken fingers. “You’re such an idiot,” she whispered, twining her fingers with his, her eyes burning. Winry wished hopelessly that things could go back to the way they’d always been, when she, Ed and Al were a team. “And so am I.”

* * * 

The first realization Edward came to was that everything hurt. The second was that he didn’t really care. By the aftertaste in his mouth, he’d had a dose of something; many doses, maybe. He tried to moisten his lips but his tongue was like leather and his mouth felt like a desert wind had blown around inside it. As scratchy as his eyes were, the wind must’ve blown sand into them, too. Moving was difficult; even his flesh limbs seemed to be weighted down with lead and Edward couldn’t tell if his automail was working properly. His memories were fuzzy and strange but he knew that he didn’t remember being in a room painted this awful shade of mint green.

He couldn’t make out much in the room, despite the sun shining through a pair of clean windows. Unable to focus, Ed’s eyes began to droop closed when he noticed a splash of yellow in amongst all the green and white. Everything ached when he tried to move though Edward wasn’t even sure why he was moving. _Yellow…Winry’s hair is that color…Winry?_ A moan escaped him, past dry tongue and cracked lips, making the figure turn toward him. 

“Welcome back.” 

Edward’s vision of her was still a little fuzzy, despite Winry moving closer. His mouth opened and closed again and once more, he tried to work enough saliva into it so he could at least answer her, maybe ask a question or two – _Where am I? What are you doing here? Why are you here?_ – but the best he could manage was a croak.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Winry turned and her figure blurred and shuddered, making Edward close his eyes to keep from getting dizzy. He could hear the splashing sound of water; his nose twitching, he could even smell it. “I’ve got a straw so you can drink this, okay?” A prickly thing touched his lip and Edward opened his mouth eagerly, just enough to tighten his lips around the straw. He sucked up the water, holding it in his mouth for a few seconds, enjoying that liquid sensation after feeling so arid, then swallowed it. His second drink drained the cup, the slurping sounds making him whine. “You can’t have a lot at once, Ed.” He wanted to argue but was too tired and in too much pain. “Rest for a little while and you can have more.” A hand slid under his bangs and Edward sighed at the unexpected relief her cool palm brought, resting on his forehead. “I’m going to tell the doctor you’re awake.” Grumbling a protest when her hand withdrew, Edward was mollified when Winry touched his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” Thinking he heard a catch in her voice, Edward turned his head but she was already gone, like a ghost. He let his eyes drift closed, wondering if Winry had actually been there with him as darkness took him away again. 

* * *


	8. One Year, Six Months, Part 4

The sound of a door opening and closing brought Roy’s head up and, rising to his feet, he spied Miss Rockbell exiting Edward’s room. She stood perfectly still for a few seconds, the fingers of one hand pressed to her mouth, still linked to Edward by her other hand remaining on the doorknob. Not looking in his direction, Miss Rockbell took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders and walking toward the nurse’s desk, her strides purposeful. 

“What is it?” Gracia asked, rousing from the stupor that the wait had put them all in. 

“Miss Rockbell just left Edward’s room.” Roy touched Gracia’s shoulder as she moved up beside him. He narrowed his eyes, watching the girl walk down the hall. “Something must have happened.”

“Where is she?” Gracia spotted Miss Rockbell’s back and started after her. 

Roy caught her before she moved past. “Wait, let her do this,” he said in answer to her unasked question. “It’s probably better for her. She’ll come to us after she speaks to the nurse.” 

Riza got up from her chair as well, the corners of her mouth turned down. “I hope,” she said softly, “that nothing has gone wrong.” 

“I think not.” Roy patted Gracia’s shoulder, glancing at Riza. When both women looked at him, he said, “If it had, I doubt she would’ve left Edward’s room.” 

Shortly, a nurse bustled down the hall, Miss Rockbell right beside her. The nurse entered Edward’s room though Miss Rockbell held back, staring at the door and heaving a sigh. As if she could feel their eyes on her, she turned, offering the trio a weary smile as she drew closer. “Ed woke up.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Gracia said, hugging Miss Rockbell. The girl put up with it, patting Gracia’s back until she was released. “Did he say anything? How is he?”

Though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, Miss Rockbell said, “He couldn’t really talk but he had some water before he fell back asleep.” She paused, taking a breath. “He recognized me. I don’t think he knew where he was.” Her brow furrowed and she touched her chin with her fingertips then turned her attention to Roy. “Can you tell me what happened to him?” 

Roy spread his hands, both his mouth and eyes tightening. He’d explained part of this earlier but wasn’t sure if Miss Rockbell had actually heard anything he or Riza had said. “A chimera found him, as best as I can piece together, one who didn’t particularly care for State Alchemists.”

Miss Rockbell sank into one of the chairs, her expression darkening. “Ed’s a better fighter than that,” she muttered, “even if his fingers weren’t working right.” She thumped her fist on her thigh. “Even if his automail was completely broken.” Almost to herself, she went on, “I’ve seen him fight. He uses every trick he can.”

“Miss Rockbell,” Roy squatted in front of her, laying his hands over hers. “I saw the scene of the battle.” He met her worried gaze steadily, hating that he had to say this. “Something was definitely off with Edward’s transmutations. He created walls that crumbled under my touch.” Hesitating, Roy knew he needed to talk to her about this. “Did you read Edward’s chart?” When she nodded slowly, he said, “The surgeons prescribed morphine but even at the dose prescribed, it was evident Edward was still in a great deal of pain.” 

As he spoke, Roy watched Miss Rockbell’s expression close off; her eyes become distant. “The last time I saw him,” her voice seemed to come from very far away, “I thought Ed might be eating opium. I couldn’t prove it and we got into a fight before I could ask him about it.” She pulled one of her hands free, covering her eyes with it. “Not that he would’ve told me the truth.” 

“Miss Wagner was here earlier, Winry,” Gracia said, taking a seat next to the girl. “She didn’t seem quite right. First Lieutenant Storch took her home.” Shifting her weight uncomfortably, Gracia met Roy’s and Riza’s eyes. “She thought she’d been brought to the hospital because Edward was dying.”

“He’s trying to.” Hand lowering from her face, Miss Rockbell’s mouth tightened in a grim line.

“I’m sorry, Winry,” Riza sighed softly. “We had no proof that Edward was eating opium.”

“Just a suspicion, like you.” Roy squeezed her hands, getting to his feet and walking a few steps away. “The military does have a medical team to help with this sort of thing but it would go on Edward’s record.” He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman knotting her fingers together. “I’d prefer that not happen.” 

“Roy and I tried to talk to him.” Gracia touched Miss Rockbell’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure you got as far as I did.” Her smile was somewhere between wry and brokenhearted. 

Leaning back in her chair, Gracia sighed, her gaze drifting to Edward’s door. “He walked out.” 

“Angrily.” Roy added.

“So, the same thing exactly.” Miss Rockbell stretched her arms in front of her, standing slowly. Roy watched as she rubbed her thumb over her third finger, as if playing with an invisible ring. Seeming to realize what she was doing, Miss Rockbell shook her hands in the air. “I need some awful hospital tea to wake me up.” She offered a somewhat apologetic grin. 

“Do you want one of us to go with you?” Riza prepared to rise but Miss Rockbell held up her palm in protest. 

“I need a little bit of time.” Her voice roughened and she shrugged her shoulders abruptly, as if to throw off the sorrow surrounding her. The furrows on her brow deepened. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Gracia winced in reaction as Riza said quietly, “If something changes, we’ll come find you.” Miss Rockbell hesitated, her head dropping in a jerky nod as she started down the hallway. 

* * *

Thunderheads rose in the afternoon sky, towering columns of grey clouds reaching high into the sky, promising the relief of rain from the afternoon heat. Izumi Curtis shaded her eyes to stare up into the sky, hoping that the rain that fell would last long enough to wash the heat away. Her mouth crimped at the thought of getting a shower that would turn Dublith into a steam bath. She was too old for that sort of nonsense. 

Barking out a laugh at her inadvertent thought about her age, Izumi finished sweeping off the stoop to the butcher shop and stepped inside. Children usually stopped by during the heat of the day to beg a piece of ice to suck on, something that she, Sig and Mason had no problem with supplying, even if the kids were usually terrified of Sig and wouldn’t even come into the shop if he was the only one behind the counter. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the paper curtains, the shades enough to block the heat but not to keep out the light. The shades kept the interior cool; smelling, as always, of sawdust and meat. 

Mason scrubbed the counter, smiling as Izumi came back inside. “So, what’s it look like out there?”

She grimaced, gesturing above her head to indicate the height of the thunderheads. “They’re going grey. I’d expect rain later.”

“Hope it’s enough to cool us off.” Mason unconsciously echoed her earlier thoughts.

Izumi nodded in agreement, fanning the still air across her face with her hand. She took the broom, replacing it in its spot in the corner behind the counter, and continued on into the work area. Sig glanced up as she came into the room before continuing his work on cutting up a lamb to display in the case out front. Izumi picked up one of the knives and starting it on the whetstone. Sharp blades – good blades – were very important in their business. If a piece of meat wasn’t cut clean, a customer might not buy it. Meat was about outward appearances. It had to look good or it didn’t get sold. 

The soft shurring of the blade against the whetstone soothed her thoughts, let them move of their own volition. Izumi focused on the ‘whick-whick’ sound, finishing with one blade and moving on to the next. The rhythmic motion, the familiar noise, it was almost enough to put her into a trance except for the sudden jangle of the telephone in the main portion of the shop. 

Sig dried his hands in preparation for the call when Mason poked his head through the doorway. “Izumi? It’s for you. A girl?”

“Really?” She exchanged a curious look with her husband, setting aside the knife and starting for the doorway. “What girl?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, stepping out of her way. “Said she was a friend of Ed’s, though.”

Izumi heard Sig following behind her as she picked up the receiver from the countertop. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Curtis?” There was something to the tone of voice that snapped Izumi’s head up, her hand tightening around the receiver. 

“This is she.” Her mouth didn’t want to form the words, felt strange and stiff. “You called about Ed?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

There was a long pause and Izumi could hear the girl trying to get herself under control. Her own fingers dug into the wooden frame of the countertop, her knuckles whitening on the receiver. “He’s not,” she blurted out, horrified at the implication.

“No.” The word came back, almost a whisper. “No, he’s alive. He was beaten badly in a fight, Mrs. Curtis.” Another pause. “I’m sorry.” Her voice steadied. “This is Winry Rockbell. We met….” She trailed off.

“At Alphonse’s funeral.” Izumi remembered the young, pretty blonde; her grandmother standing close beside her. Alphonse had asked Winry to marry him; he’d written to Izumi to let her know, including a little sketch he’d drawn of his darling girl. “Ed was in a fight?” She tried desperately to hold onto the image in her head, of two young boys with eyes like gold coins, staring up at her in determination. 

“Yes, he’s in the hospital now.” The young woman – Winry – took a deep breath that shuddered through the line. “I don’t know if he’s been in contact with you, Mrs. Curtis, before this but he’s not been very,” the hesitation lingered, “well since Al died.”

There was something Winry wasn’t saying. “Miss Rockbell. What is wrong with Ed?”

The hiss and crackle of static held the line for the long period of two heartbeats before Winry said, “He’s addicted to opium.”

It was the girl’s turn to wait while Izumi let the words echo in her mind. They rolled around like marbles inside her skull, not really making contact with anything. “Opium?” Izumi barely recognized the sound of the word coming out of her mouth. 

“His commanding officer doesn’t want it on his record. I think…I need to bring him to you, Mrs. Curtis. He’s not listening to anything I say and,” Winry’s voice thickened and blurred through the lines, the words indistinguishable. 

Closing her eyes to ward off the sudden pain welling inside her, Izumi nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course. My husband and I will come to you.” She heard the words ‘Central’ and the name of the hospital. “We’ll be on the very next train, Miss – Winry.” Carefully replacing the receiver in its cradle, Izumi turned to Sig and Mason, her face a tight mask. “It’s Ed.” She reached out her hand and Sig took it. “We need to go.”

“We will.” He squeezed her fingers gently and Izumi crashed into his chest, tears rolling down her cheeks, Sig anchoring her while she cried.

* * *

The room came slowly into focus as Edward woke. He blinked, the stray thought drifting through his mind that at least he didn’t feel like he’d been left in a desert for weeks this time. Like before, the pale green resolved itself into walls, an uncurtained window letting in light from outside. Like before, a blond woman was in the room and Edward almost collapsed in relief at the sight of her. He tried to say her name but his mouth was still too dry to manage more than a two-syllable croak. 

“Hello, Edward.” She smiled despite his obvious disappointment. “Winry is getting something to eat. She’ll be back shortly.” Captain Hawkeye brushed his hair out of his eyes, a surprisingly comforting touch. “Do you need anything? A drink?” 

Nodding made his head swim but Edward couldn’t exactly say much. He tried a little grin when Hawkeye brought the glass close, offering him the straw. Closing his cracked lips around the paper tube, Edward sipped at the water, knowing that the straw would collapse soon under the moisture. Still, he managed to get a couple of mouthfuls before the suction and water conspired against the paper and closed it off. “Thanks.” The word came out soft and hoarse and Edward’s larynx bobbed as he swallowed again, trying to work some moisture in his mouth. 

“You’re welcome, Edward.” Hawkeye set the glass on the table next to the bed. Edward watched it move out of his range, dismayed. Interpreting his look, she went on. “You can have some more water in a little bit. Winry and your nurse were quite specific about that; you’re not to take more than a few sips at a time.” 

Silence hung between them. Edward wanted more water but not enough to argue about it. It felt like he was wrapped in batting, tucked away from the world. That, coupled with the recurring desert in his mouth, meant he was being fed drugs. Edward wondered briefly what kind of medications had been put in his system then followed up the question with morphine, the hospital standard. It didn’t lessen the pain any but Edward didn’t really care. That was the great thing about narcotics. If you wanted the pain to go away, you took something else. You could drown it in booze or float away from it with opium. Sometimes, if it was bad enough, a different sort of pain could prove a distraction. And sometimes the pain just overwhelmed you and you wanted to take whatever way you could to make it end.

“Do you know why you’re in the hospital?” Hawkeye touched his hand, a fleeting press of her fingers against his knuckles. 

Dragging his thoughts out of the downward spiral, Edward blinked at Hawkeye. “Fight?” He remembered a woman, someone big and scary, like Colonel Armstrong in female form. Had she been shouting? His fingers ached suddenly though Edward ignored the sensation. Pain seemed far away at this point. 

“You were in a fight.” Somehow understanding if she moved too quickly, he wouldn’t be able to track the gesture, Hawkeye nodded, slow and deliberate. “You were in surgery for some time. Your doctor or Winry will be able to tell you more about that.” 

The only reason Edward didn’t roll his eyes at the idea of a lecture from Winry Rockbell was his eyes didn’t want to move that way. Instead, he let out a huffing sigh, one that made him wince as pain chipped away at his ribs. Sluggish memory supplied him with the image of Winry, standing where Hawkeye now stood. Edward recalled his relief at the sight of her and wished his stomach didn’t curdle at the thought of seeing her now. Shifting his weight, he bit his lip in agony. The morphine was wearing off. Maybe it wasn’t the thought of Winry that was making him feel sick. Swallowing hard, Edward closed his eyes. 

“Hawkeye?” He heard her shift closer, the sound of her rustling clothing seeming like sandpaper rubbed against his eardrums. “…need somethin’…” His stomach tightened, forcing his body to curl like a fist clenching. “…fuck….”

“Edward?” Hawkeye moved away from him to the door that squealed open, the sound piercing his brain like a nail shoved through his eye. “I need a doctor, now!” 

* * *


	9. One Year, Six Months, Part 5

It seemed like the chair was even harder than the one in Edward’s previous room. Winry shifted on it, making a little face. Maybe it was so she’d stay awake, not that she had any desire to sleep. Mr. Mustang had come to find her in the canteen, letting her know that Edward was all right, but he’d been moved to a ward, rather than a private room. “His medications wore off,” Mr. Mustang explained, his expression grim, “and he was in a lot of pain. His doctor decided it would be best to move him closer to the nurses’ station, where it’ll be easier for someone to keep an eye on him.” 

The room had ten beds, though only two of the others were occupied. A nurse read the chart of one of the patients, making notes on it before heading to the next patient. Winry turned her attention back to Edward though it almost hurt to look at him. A tremor ran through him every once in a while, making the shoulder plates of his automail rattle. He looked older than he was; his face grooved and furrowed with lines of pain. Oily sweat beaded his skin and Winry carefully mopped his face and neck, knowing Edward, who didn’t mind getting dirty but hated feeling that way, would despise the slickness of his skin. His mouth and eyes both twitched, his fingers jerking in response to the medication and whatever he might be dreaming now. 

“Winry?” 

She turned partway, hearing Riza’s voice. “He’s still sleeping.” If it could be called that. Winry wasn’t sure that Edward was in some other state entirely; unconscious, maybe. Sleep implied that he was resting and Edward wasn’t. 

“You should probably get some rest.” Riza laid her hands on Winry’s shoulders. 

She could feel the warmth and strength in Riza’s fingers. They reminded her of Granny’s hands, tough, yet supple. “Nurse Ferrell said I could sleep on one of the beds if I needed to.” Winry turned slightly to offer Riza a weary smile. “You should go home, though. Make Mr. Mustang and Gracia go, too. Nothing more is going to happen tonight.” _I hope._

“I don’t want to just leave you, Winry.” Her grip tightened then loosened, an inadvertent massage. Riza moved around the chair, squatting beside her. “I know how difficult it is to wait beside a bed.”

Winry touched Riza’s hand fleetingly. “It’s okay.” Her smile was genuine. “It’s not like it’s the first time.” _I’m just not used to waiting without Alphonse._ “I’ll be all right. Go home, get some rest. You can bring something good for me to eat for breakfast.” Her gaze returned to Edward’s face. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

Riza rose. “Edward is a strong young man. I have faith in him.” She stepped away, once again the epitome of an officer of the new military. “Just like he has faith in you.” 

Before Winry could respond, Riza had turned with infinite precision, marching from the ward. Her eyes followed the other woman’s back, her smile slowly fading from her face as Riza exited the room. Winry adjusted her position on the chair, plucking Edward’s automail hand from the mattress and clasping it. “Did you hear that, Ed? Riza thinks you’re strong. So does Gracia.” Picking up the damp cloth, she wiped his forehead again. “Me, too, Ed. I think you’re very strong, too. I think – I know – you’re strong enough to come through this. You have to be strong, Ed, don’t you see? I can’t keep losing the people I care about the most. You have to get better, because I need you.” 

She stopped, realizing she couldn’t see Edward anymore, and rubbed her eyes to clear them of the tears. “Look at this,” Winry murmured. “You made me promise, Ed, no crying unless it’s tears of joy.” Swallowing hard, she wiped her eyes again. “It’s your promise, too, remember. You’re supposed to make me cry because I’m happy.” She squeezed his hand tightly, the metal leaving an imprint on her skin. “So you have to get better. You have a promise to keep, Edward Elric, and I’m going to make sure you keep it.” 

* * *

Edward thought opening his eyes might be the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do but someone was shaking his shoulder and repeating his name. “Hnng…?” His mouth was so dry, someone must’ve shoved terry down his throat.

“It’s time to take your medication.” 

_…medication?_ He stared blearily at the woman, trying to remember if he’d ever seen her before. She was all in white and there was that smell, bleach and sickness, letting Edward know he was in a hospital somewhere. Everything ached, a deep, low throb. Whatever he’d done to get himself thrown into a medical ward, it must’ve been good. 

The nurse smiled at him reassuringly, offering him a pill. “This is to help you sleep.”

“‘lready sleepin’…why’d…wake me…then?” It was difficult to talk when his tongue felt like old shoe leather. Edward attempted a scowl but that hurt his face too much. 

“Because it’s my job to make you uncomfortable,” the nurse said, helping him sit up so he could take the pill. “Really.” Once she was sure he’d taken the pill, she held a glass of water with a straw angled for him to drink. Edward sighed mentally at the stupid paper straw, wishing that there was something else that could be used, but carefully closed his lips around the tube. It took five sips before he managed to seal off the end this time, enough to swallow the pill and moisten his mouth. He wished there was more water offered. He thought he could duck his head into a horse trough and drink it dry. 

“Very good,” the nurse said, setting the glass on the rolling cart at the end of the bed. “I’ll be back around in a couple of hours with an anti-biotic.” 

Edward grunted in response, eyeing the pitcher of water next to his glass. “C’n I have s’more water?” Unknowingly, he pled with his eyes and the faint tremor of his mouth. 

The nurse picked up the chart hanging from the end of Edward’s bed. She read the notes, her lips pursing. “You were pretty badly hurt, Lieutenant Colonel.” Walking back around the bed, she checked the bag hanging near the headboard. “You’re on a saline drip with morphine to help you with the pain.” He nodded vaguely, more interested in the pitcher at the end of his bed. “And a catheter. Until you’re able to urinate on your own, you need to stick to the saline drip.” She patted his wrist in sympathy. “I can swab your mouth.” 

“Nurse Ferrell? I can do that.” Winry seemed to almost appear out of the shadows of the night darkened room, her pale hair burning like a candle. “You can see to your other patients.” 

_Winry?_ Edward forced his mind to work, tripping over memories and dreams until he found the right one, of Winry sitting in the chair next to his bed before she turned into Hawkeye. _How fucked up am I?_

“I thought you were resting, Dr. Rockbell.” The nurse touched Winry’s shoulder when the younger woman shrugged lightly. 

“I’m used to being up all hours with customers.” Winry gave the nurse a lopsided smile then turned to Edward. Her smile faltered and something inside him sagged at that sight. 

_I let you down._ The casts on his flesh hand did little to stop the twinges of pain when his fingers tried to clench. 

Winry moistened a sponge, stepping closer to the head of the bed until she was the only thing Edward could see. He wondered how she could even bear to look at him but even in the dim lighting of the shaded lantern the nurse used to make her rounds, Edward could only see compassion on Winry’s face. “Open up.” She teased him by touching the corner of the sponge to his lips, the scent of water making his nostrils flare. Opening his mouth, Edward shivered and had to close his eyes against the enforced intimacy of Winry’s fingers, soothing moisture over his tongue and gums. He caught the sponge against the roof of his mouth, sucking at the liquid. There wasn’t enough to drown his thirst and, slumping back into the bed, Edward moaned.

“I know, honey, I know.” Cool fingers brushed his forehead and Edward opened his eyes again, staring up at Winry. He was such an asshole and she was so kind to be here, to take care of him. A voice sounding suspiciously like Al’s whispered in his head, _She always does take care of you_ , and Edward wished viciously for a second that it wasn’t true. What was worse, he never turned down her generosity when she offered it but never gave her anything but pain in return. 

_I don’t do anything right by you, Winry._ The dry swallow hurt and Edward made a little whining sound in response. 

“It’s too late at night for me to get you any ice chips.” Winry dragged a chair closer to the bed, the grating sound almost making Edward wince though he tried to school his reaction off his face before she saw. “Do you remember why you’re here?”

Her hand felt so nice and cool on his arm, Edward wished she’d touch his face again. “Hnn,” he exhaled, then, “fight. I lost.” 

“That’s what Mr. Mustang said, too.” As if she read his mind, Winry stroked his bangs off his forehead. 

Edward sighed in relief, turning his face into her hand. Why did Winry always have to be the one to make him feel better? Why was she saddled with his stupidity and mistakes? He tried to force those musings back into the black hole they’d sprung from. Right now, he was pretty sure he’d be stupid enough to ask and that would make her cry again. “…can’t stand…y’cryin’.” 

“What?” Winry leaned closer to him, the dim lighting still enough to pick up her worried expression. Her fingers pressed against his cheek and Edward remembered how his face had stung after she’d slapped him. 

“Doesn’ matter.” A shiver caught him mid-yawn, making him squeak. 

“It’s okay, then.” She petted his hair, not even making a face at how dirty it had to be. Edward almost felt embarrassed about it but his next yawn drove that thought from his mind. “Go back to sleep, Ed. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“‘kay.” Winry didn’t make promises she didn’t keep, Edward knew, and he let his eyes slide shut again. 

* * *   
It seemed to Edward he’d been walking for days without water. The sun overhead burned his skin, turning his automail into branding irons even through the layers of clothing that he wore. His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of flannel. He’d swear his tongue was ready to crumble and join the dust at his feet. Edward couldn’t remember his last drink but his ears were filled with the sounds of rushing water. He knew it had to be a mirage; there was no water in this desert. Even if he buried his hands in the rocks beneath the sand, transmuted pits all over the surface of the wasteland, he wouldn’t find a single drop of water. Breath rasping like a bellows, Edward wasn’t sure the sand hadn’t gotten into his throat and lungs, the silica slicing through the tissues. It hurt to breathe. It hurt everywhere but he couldn’t die out here. He had to live so he could get Al his body back. 

A part of him screamed at the idea, that Al was suffering, a soul attached to a piece of metal. He had to keep it together, though. Couldn’t let Al know. Couldn’t let Al know how much it hurt, carrying the weight of their stupidity; _his_ sheer arrogance, in trying to bring their mother back from the dead. “Sorry, Al,” Edward mumbled, hanging his head. “It’s all my fault.” The words circled in his brain like the buzzards twisted in the sky. “‘m not gonna die for you bastards.” That kind of death wouldn’t help his little brother and Edward was sure the homunculi wouldn’t just let him die, anyway. They still needed their chosen sacrifices. And Edward had already decided that if only one of them was going to make it out of this alive, it’d be Al.

 _Sorry, Winry._ He shook his head, hoping that she’d forgive him. He wanted to make it out of this alive. Her smile was the one he looked forward most to seeing, next to Al’s. _I don’t want you to cry, though, Winry, unless you’re crying for joy._ In Briggs, he’d managed to stay alive, partially because he knew she’d cry if he didn’t, so he had to stay alive now, too. 

“You shouldn’t make Winry cry.” The familiar creak and squeal of metal rubbing against itself announced Al’s approach. 

Edward could feel the heat radiating off his brother’s armor body, hoping he didn’t cringe away from it. “I don’t mean to,” he grumbled. “I don’t want her to cry.” He didn’t like the way it made his heart clutch up in his chest. “But it’ll be okay. The Promised Day will come and go. You’ll have your body back.” Reaching out, Edward rapped his metal knuckles against Al’s breastplate, making the plate boom. “And Winry can cry because she’s happy for once.”

“I bet she’d like that.” Al’s stride was easy, despite the heat, and Edward almost envied him that metal body and its ability to carry his little brother forward. “We ought to be nicer to her, Ed. She deserves it.” 

“First things first.” He pointed at Al. “Your body. Take care of the homunculi. My arm and leg. Winry.” 

“Apple pie.” The way Al said the words, Edward almost thought he could hear his brother drooling. 

Grinning, he nodded. “Yeah, apple pie. She makes the best. Better than Mrs. Hughes, even.”

“You’d know, since you got to try them both.” 

Edward’s smile faded as he looked up at his brother. How could a suit of armor look disapproving? “Well, yeah, but…I mean, I bet they’d both be happy to make you a pie, Al, as many as you want. Winry already promised you a pie.”

“What’d she promise you, Edward?” Any affectionate note was gone from Al’s voice as he turned on his brother. “She didn’t just promise me a pie. We were going to get married. What did she promise you?” 

“I,” Edward stumbled back from Al’s pointing finger. “Tears of joy. That’s all, Al. I swear. You were there at the train station.” He hated the desperate tone to his words. “You heard me tell her that.” 

“And you heard me tell Winry I loved her.” Al kept striding forward, the clanks of his armor, the way his entire body blocked out the sun, making Edward feel nervous. “You knew that she loved me and you couldn’t stand it because you love her, too.”

Mouth opening, Edward tried to think of a response as he scurried backward. Why couldn’t he come up with an answer? “Al, I care for Winry. She’s like my sister!”

“Liar.” The word clung to him like a desperate lover. “You’re lying, Ed. You wanted Winry for yourself. You still do.”

“I,” the words got stuck in his throat and Edward tried to swallow, to work any type of moisture into his mouth so he could speak. 

“You didn’t want Ling anywhere near her. Or Colonel Mustang. You hated it when any man paid her attention.” Al loomed over him, thowing him into shadow, but the radiant heat of his armor made Edward feel like he was roasting. “You wanted her for yourself, Edward. You always did. That’s why you let me die – you wanted Winry.” 

“No. No!” Frantic, Edward shook his head, trying to back away from this monster with his brother’s voice in front of him. “I wanted…I just wanted you both to be happy. That’s all.” 

His insistence didn’t mollify Al, who strode forward for each step back Edward took. “But not at the price of your own. You were done paying that piper, right, Brother?” The word came out like a curse. “So you’d let me pay for you. Like you’d let me pay every other time.”

“No!” The word sounded so weak, so pitiful between them. “No, I tried to save you. I promised. I promised Mom. I promised Winry. I swore I’d look after you, Al! I never –ever – wanted anything to happen to you. Everything is my fault!”

“Even my death?” Al’s voice gloated over Edward and he nodded frantically. 

“Yes. Yes, your death, my fault! Please, Al. Please.” He nearly sobbed. “Just forgive me?” Edward staggered toward his brother. “Please, Al.

“Please!”

* * *


	10. One Year, Six Months, Part 6

Winry jerked awake, hearing a soft sound. Twisting her neck, she tried to relieve the aching muscles. Sleeping in a wooden chair did nothing for her back. She should’ve lay down on one of the empty beds, she knew, but at some point, she’d taken Edward’s hand and he’d tightened his fingers when she tried to move away. Now, of course, he’d let go, and she was awake. 

“…eesss….”

“Ed?” Getting to her feet, Winry leaned over him. The dim lighting cast him more in shadow but she could still see the pain on Edward’s face. “Ed, honey?” She gave his forehead a fleeting touch, feeling the fever in his skin. With a hiss, Winry reached for the cloth she’d been bathing his face with, wringing it out and laying it back on his forehead.

Edward shivered, his shoulders hunching. His left hand twitched and fumbled for the cloth but the cast made him clumsy. He nearly bumped his head before Winry caught his wrist, keeping him from reaching for the cloth. “You’ve got a fever, Ed. This will help cool you – hey!” She fought to keep hold of his wrist when Edward jerked, letting out a whine. “Ed, calm down.” Winry tried to keep her voice low, not wanting to wake the other patients. “Edward!”

A low moan built in his throat as he thrashed his head from side to side, shaking the cloth off his face. Winry caught his head in her hands, forcing him to still. “Ed,” she murmured, leaning even closer, her bangs brushing over his forehead, “Ed, wake up. You’re dreaming. It’s just a dream and you can wake up.” 

Gasping, Edward flinched, his eyes opening wide, and Winry automatically covered his mouth so he wouldn’t scream. “Ed, Ed, wake up. It’s okay!” His body stiffened and his breath whistled behind her hand. Winry hoped he wouldn’t bite her. “Ed…honey, settle down. It’s just a dream.” 

His eyes darted around as he trembled beneath her. Perspiration beaded his forehead and dampened his hair, making his skin slick. Winry spoke in soft tones, comforting words, nonsense, for all she knew, just trying to reach Edward. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut, and his body slumped into the mattress. 

Winry cautiously removed her hand from his mouth, stroking his cheek with her fingertips instead. “Are you okay now?”

“…bad dream.” The words came out in a rough croak. Edward’s eyes turned away from her almost too quickly for her to see how they glistened. 

“I could tell.” Winry picked up the damp cloth, settling it on Edward’s forehead again. “Want to tell me about it?” 

“Hnn nn.” Edward bit his lower lip, shaking his head. Reaching up, he adjusted the cloth so it covered his eyes. 

Winry knew a dismissal when she saw one. Still, it irked that Edward would so readily ignore her. _Oh, right, like that’s ever actually changed._ Her fingers itched to rap him upside the head. He was already in the hospital, another lump wouldn’t hurt. _Much._

“Sorry, Winry.” Edward sounded conciliatory though there was no way of reading his expression with the cloth on his face. “‘s just a bad dream.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it.” Her words came out stilted and Winry wished she hadn’t opened her mouth at all. 

Tilting his head slightly, Edward peered at her from under the cloth. “This kind of dream isn’t helped by talking about it.” As if he knew she was going to protest, he whispered, “Please, Winry.” He almost sounded as if it hurt to make that plea. 

For all Winry knew, it did. The tone of his voice reminded her of a day long ago, of her kneeling in a wrecked street, of Edward gently prying her fingers open from their grip on a police hand gun. She still remembered the dusty cool air, the way the debris littering the street cut into her skin. _I remember you, Ed, how you looked, running up that wall and flinging yourself over the top of Scar’s head to reach me. I remember how you landed in front of me, protecting me with your body, making sure that even if I did lose control and fire that gun, it wouldn’t hurt anyone. You wrapped me in your coat and it was so warm and I felt so cold…and then you left me because Al was still fighting Scar. I worried so much that day. It was the first time I really understood how dangerous your lives were and how damn little I could do to help you._

Alphonse had told her once that she had no idea how much she did help them, just by being there. “Brother needs that,” he’d said, lowering his voice, “we both do.” And she’d thought, _I love Ed. I guess I always have._ But Al had been the one to act on his feelings, not Edward, and Winry had turned to the younger brother, hesitantly, at first, then more willingly as Edward became more standoffish. Her choice had been clear but made only after a long deliberation – and Winry hadn’t regretted it. She still didn’t. 

Especially when faced with how little she could do for the older brother now. “Okay, Ed.” _I can’t wait for you any more, Ed. It hurts too much._ She scooted the chair back in preparation to stand and Edward turned his head toward her. 

“What are you doing?” 

Edward, panicked? Winry hesitated but got up anyway. “I need to stretch my legs, Ed.” 

“You won’t leave?” His right hand reached for her, seeming almost independent of his body. The pleading note cut through her, making all her insides feel like they were collapsing on themselves. Edward glanced past her. “I know you’re tired. Why don’t you lie down? I…I’ll try not to keep you awake.” His gaze fell and his metal fingers picked at the lightweight blanket bunched across his stomach.

Winry inhaled slowly. “I’m going to get something to drink.” At the eager expression that crossed Edward’s face, she relented. “You can have some, too. Not much, though. You’ve still got the catheter in.”

The reminder made Edward grimace. “Why?” 

“Because your kidneys got damaged.” The faint humor that had colored her voice vanished. “From the bruising I saw, it looks like someone walked all over you, Ed. Literally.” 

Brows knitting, Edward didn’t deny it, the corners of his mouth turning down. Winry waited but he didn’t say anything. Sighing, she retreated to clinical terms. “You had blood in your urine. A lavage was performed and when the bleeding didn’t stop, you had surgery. Your bladder was damaged and the surgeon sewed it back up. Until there isn’t any blood in your urine, you’re going to have that catheter in your body.” Realizing she’d put her hands on her hips sometime during her little lecture, Winry forced them to her sides. Lowering her voice, she added, “You were pretty badly hurt, Ed. Your leg was destroyed. I’ll have to make you a brand new one.” She didn’t say the words that came to mind, _If you’re not going to go out and try to kill yourself again._

“…didn’t wanna be so much trouble.” His fingers picked at the hem of the blanket again. 

“It’s not trouble, Ed. You’re my,” Winry stopped, not even sure what to call him any more. 

The silence hung between them for what seemed like a long time, Ed stealing little glances up at her while she stood, almost frozen. “It’s okay, Winry.” He’d dug a hole in the blanket and was worrying it with his forefinger. “Stretch your legs and get your drink.”

 _I’m not running away._ Winry swallowed hard. _That’s not what I’m doing. I’m going for a little walk so I can get some water or tea or something._ She took a step back away from the bed. Edward looked over at her as she moved and she froze again, seeing how his fist clenched on the blanket and his larynx bobbed. _No. Nonono. You cannot do this to me now, Edward Elric._ His breath hitched then evened out, though he closed his eyes, turning his face away from her. “I’ll be back, Ed.” Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. “I’ll bring something for you to drink.” 

“I know.” Edward’s whisper barely reached her but still caught her like a hook. Winry shivered, trying to break free of the emotions running rampant through her. If she stayed, she knew she’d drown herself in a sea of tears. Reaching out, she patted Edward’s shin before turning abruptly and walking out of the ward. 

The hallways were only slightly brighter than the room she’d just left but Winry felt as if she could walk through the whole thing even if all the lights were out. She went down the stairs that led to the canteen, trying very hard not to think of Edward. It seemed more difficult than she wanted it to be. Each time Winry tried to turn her thoughts to anything else, they returned stubbornly to him. “I can’t keep thinking like this.” Shaking her head to clear it, Winry made her way down the hallway to the canteen. 

As brightly lit as the rest of the hospital was dim, the canteen was easy to find. Winry had to let her eyes adjust before walking inside and even then, she kept her eyes half closed. The familiar scent of cooking oatmeal perfumed the air as she pushed through the doorway. Winry fought with her stomach. There wasn’t enough in it for her to get sick. It settled but still made sounds that embarrassed her as she approached the counter, asking for a cup of tea and a glass of ice water, “Heavy on the ice.” Edward could suck the ice cubes to quench his thirst if he was still awake. She waved off the fry cook’s offer of an early breakfast but did add cream and sugar to her tea, hoping that the brew wouldn’t make her stomach any more upset than it was now. _Do you see how crazy you make me, Ed?_

“Gah!” 

“I beg your pardon?” The fry cook gave her a curious look and Winry waved her hands at him. 

“Nothing! Nothing. I was just thinking too hard about something.” She laughed, a short, nervous chuckle. “Thank you for the tea and water.” Picking up the mug and the glass, Winry forced a smile. “I’m going now.” The doorway loomed in front of her and she found it difficult to pass through. On the other side of it, Edward waited, and Winry still hadn’t figured out what to do about him. That was part of the reason she’d called his one-time teacher, Mrs. Curtis. Maybe she would have an idea on what might help Edward. _If there is any way to help him._ The dark thought rose unbidden and Winry did nothing to stop it. Edward had been walking this path since Alphonse’s murder. She had seen it and, rather than confront him, had sent Edward away. _I am a fool._ Maybe if she’d pounded him into the floor with her wrench; had Mr. Armstrong help her drag him off to Rush Valley, Edward wouldn’t be in the hospital right now. It was so easy to second-guess yourself when it was too late. 

Winry forced herself back up the stairs. The nausea seemed to dissipate the farther she was from the smell of food. Later in the day, she’d consider eating. Right now, she hoped she’d be able to get the tea down and have it stay there. Something warm in her stomach might help. She wondered if she should’ve gotten hot milk to help her sleep then decided it was just as well she hadn’t. Edward would’ve made a fuss and possibly awakened the other people in his ward. The nurses were kind enough to let her stay in the ward with Edward and Winry didn’t want to take advantage of their good natures, especially if Edward fell into a snit fit about milk.

The realization startled her - _I want to see Ed get mad about milk again._ It wasn’t just that, either; Winry wanted Edward to be a brat, to argue and fuss and yell at her. _I want things to be the way they were before Alphonse died._ Taking a seat outside the ward, she sipped at her tea. It would only be a dream. There wasn’t any way to return things to the way they’d been; even alchemy wasn’t enough to turn back time. She had been the Elric brothers’ hostage, back before the Promised Day, and though she’d managed to escape, Winry knew the brothers had worried about her. Edward had shown his worry by yelling at her. Alphonse, on the other hand, put his hands on her shoulders and stared at her, the leather of his glove touching her cheek gently.

Winry couldn’t pinpoint the exact period of time when her affections changed from one brother to the other, only that while she was in Briggs, she still loved Edward. She’d left Briggs in the company of Alphonse, though, and that, Winry thought, was probably when Alphonse started courting her. It had been subtle – Al probably didn’t want Mei to assassinate her or anything, Winry thought, recollecting the Xingese girl’s crush. Mei had even spoken to her about it, Winry remembered, little heart-felt dreams with blushes to go along with them. Winry had kept her own counsel about her feelings for the brothers. It did no good to discuss them with anyone, really, not while there were too many dangers out there to face. And then, when the dangers were put to rest, Al had been the one to press his suit and Edward offered his brother a self-indulgent smile and Winry that little flap of his hand, showing them both his back as he returned to Central City.

The entryway to the ward reminded Winry of an open mouth, ready to swallow her down. She couldn’t remember how she’d wound up in front of it again, just that it stood there, waiting. Edward waited for her, too, so damaged that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to put him back together. She had to try, though, if nothing else for the memory of their shared childhood; for their friendship. For Alphonse, whom they’d both loved. 

Taking a deep breath, Winry stiffened her spine and walked into the ward, going to Edward’s bed. His head was turned toward the doorway, right hand hanging off the edge of the bed, palm up. Winry bit her tongue at the sight, scolding herself for reading too much into it. Edward hadn’t fallen asleep watching the doorway for her, waiting for her to come back. 

Things weren’t like that between them. They’d never been that way, except in her imagination, and she wasn’t going to let that run away with her. Edward was a sick young man in need of her help and that was what she’d offer.

It was all she could do.

* * * 

Gracia considering going to the canteen to get a cup of tea, mostly so she could get up and move around, plus, Winry might appreciate something warm to drink. The hospital felt cold this morning and Gracia repressed a shiver, not sure if it was from the actual temperature of the building or because of where she was. She sighed softly, adjusting her position in her chair, wishing she’d brought some knitting or cross stitch; anything to keep her hands and mind busy enough that she didn’t have to think what happened in the room across the way. Just a short time before, Edward had been wheeled out of the large room to a private room so the catheter could be removed. Winry had gone with him, though Gracia wasn’t sure how much of that was in observation or to provide support for Edward. Maybe both equally.

The strain of the night had shown on Winry’s face and Gracia doubted that the young woman had gotten any sleep. She certainly hadn’t left the hospital, despite Gracia’s offer of a room at her house, and Gracia made a mental note to bully Winry into coming home with her to rest for a little while today. Hospitals were not conducive to any type of relaxation and watching Edward sleep wouldn’t really do Winry any good. If she had to, Gracia would enlist Roy’s help. He could be particularly persuasive and that charm might be necessary to pry Winry away from Edward’s bedside.

If those two would admit how they felt about one another, Gracia thought things would go better. Edward needed someone to take care of. He was like Maes in that regard and Edward had too many years invested in protecting and watching over Alphonse to be comfortable completely on his own. Gracia thought that was the reason Edward had taken up with Josephine. She was a woman who truly needed him, though Gracia had the unkind thought that Josephine’s real needs involved Edward’s money and standing in the military.

Winry, on the other hand, didn’t need Edward as much as he needed her. She’d learned to make her way on her own. Her engagement to Alphonse had come as something of a shock to Gracia, who had always expected Edward to propose to Winry or, at the very least, suggest they live together. That Alphonse had taken that step had been a surprise; though, seeing them together, Gracia had admitted Winry and Alphonse made a sweet couple. It just didn’t seem to her like it would be something that would last. Winry liked being challenged and her hot temper could be downright frightening. Edward would stand toe to toe with Winry, both of them worked up into a furious rage, and despite that, their friendship remained intact. Winry remained Winry when she was with Edward. With Alphonse, she seemed muted, as if she was trying to conform to match him. 

And Alphonse, he’d needed someone gentler than Winry, another girl who wouldn’t be excited about building a weapon to tuck inside an automail limb. Winry might have eventually run right over Alphonse, and while the younger Elric had been a strong man, Gracia wasn’t sure that he would’ve been strong enough to face Winry down.

Lost in her thoughts, Gracia didn’t notice the man at first, then wondered how she’d missed him. She’d never thought she’d see another man the size of Alex Louis Armstrong, especially not striding down the hospital corridor, his expression somewhat lost. Aside from that obvious comparison, Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong and this fellow didn’t seem similar. This man was swarthy, with a beard and rounded shoulders. His clothes, though clean, were less tailored and more roughly made and it took a few seconds for Gracia to realize that a woman walked in front of him, her brow furrowed in determination. 

The oddly matched pair continued past her to the nurse’s station, the woman getting the attention of one of the nurses. Gracia laced her fingers together, wondering again if she should go get a cup of tea. The warmth would be a comfort and that almost made up her mind when the doors to the room Edward had disappeared behind swung open, the bed being rolled into the hall. Edward’s expression was pained, though he didn’t look to be in immediate discomfort, and he was rolled back toward the ward. Standing, Gracia waited for Winry to come out of the room.

Instead, the woman turned from the nurses’ station, her face frozen for an instant in shock, before she moved down the hall. As she strode past Gracia, the woman’s expression changed to a ferocity that nearly made Gracia take a step back. “What has my stupid ex-apprentice done to himself now?” 

Edward flinched, winced and flinched again. “Master?” His voice trembled for an instant. “I - ” 

“You lost a fight.” The woman stood over Edward’s bed, her hands on her hips, strands of her braided hair whipping over her shoulder. “You destroyed your automail.” Her gaze flickered over Edward’s body. “I thought I’d trained you better.” 

The young man pushing Edward’s gurney looked from the woman to his patient and back again. “Ma’am? I really need to get him back to his bed.” His face paled when the woman shot him a glare. “But you can come with us. His bed is right in that room.” He indicated the ward with a jerk of his head and began wheeling Edward into it. The woman followed, fury fairly radiating from her body. Gracia let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when the woman disappeared through the doorway.

“Was that Mrs. Curtis?” Winry’s voice came from somewhere near her shoulder and Gracia blinked, returning from where the strange woman’s voice had sent her. 

“I suppose so.” They both watched as the large man approached, his dark beard managing to hide all expression on his face. 

Winry took a step. “Are you Mr. Curtis?” She had a polite smile on her face, offering the man her hand.

“You must be Miss Rockbell.” He took Winry’s hand in his, completely dwarfing it in his palm. “My wife appreciates your calling her.”

Her smile faltered but Winry managed to answer Mr. Curtis. “I wish it hadn’t been for this reason.” Turning slightly, she nodded to Gracia. “This is Gracia Hughes.” Mr. Curtis shook Gracia’s hand, leaving her surprised at both how hard his hand actually was and how carefully he shook hers. 

“I would say it’s a pleasure,” Gracia told Mr. Curtis, “but under the circumstances.” Her mouth twisted slightly. 

“Yes.” Somehow, his face grew darker. “Miss Rockbell, would you like to tell me the rest of the story?”

“I can explain what I know but,” Winry glanced around, her finger indicating the hall, “this probably isn’t the best place to talk.”

“There are some smaller waiting rooms near the canteen. I was just going to get myself a cup of tea, Winry, if you and Mr. Curtis would like to accompany me.” Gracia wondered if her mother would be proud of her remembering her manners in such a situation or find it all too humorous. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” Mr. Curtis nodded, his expression not changing a whit. 

“Should we wait for Mrs. Curtis?” Her attention focused on the doorway to the ward, Winry seemed a little lost, almost as if she was poised to enter the room. There were noises coming from it that made Gracia wince in response. 

“I think Izumi will need to speak to Ed a little longer.” There was the faintest hint of salty humor in Mr. Curtis’ voice. “Shall we?” Gesturing with his broad paw for the women to precede him, he half followed, half guided them to the stairway, opening the door for them to go through. 

As the door closed behind them, shutting off the sounds coming from the ward, Gracia almost wondered if Edward would be alive when they returned. 

* * *


	11. One Year, Six Months, Part 7

Edward wished that he was lost in a hallucination or a nightmare. He stood a chance of getting out of those alive. That wasn’t always the case with Izumi Curtis, especially when she stood over him, her arms crossed, and her face set in an expression that promised death and destruction to anyone in her path. 

“Explain, Edward.” Her foot tapped lightly on the linoleum, making one of her many braids bounce. 

Then again, if she killed him, he wouldn’t have to live in this hell any more. _I’d finally be free._ Not that he expected Izumi to actually kill him, no, she’d just make him wish he was dead. The nurses would keep her from actually throwing him across the room, right? Even if that guy who’d brought him back from the other room hared off as soon as Edward was shifted into his bed. 

“Now.” The terse word hung between them. 

Edward’s mouth tightened in response. “I got into a fight with someone stronger than me.” He shrugged, his forefinger finding the hole in the blanket he’d made last night. “I lost the fight. It happens.”

“Not to one of my apprentices.” Her frown deepened. 

He gave her an incredulous look. “I lost so many fights, Master. Hell, Winry beats me up, too. I only started winning,” Edward paused, realizing that he started winning when he and Al really started trusting other people and depending on their help. Ling, for one; donkey kong and lion king. Winry. _Hell, if we’d let her in sooner..._ Deciding it was best not to follow that thought, Edward shook his head. 

“When you realized your reasons for winning.” Izumi’s expression softened ever so slightly and she touched Edward’s shoulder. “There were people counting on you, people you cared about, even people you didn’t know, and you fought for them.” Her face became stern again as her grip tightened. “Now you’re fighting to lose and I want to know why.”

“I’m not.” Edward clamped his jaw shut before the rest of that sentence could get out. It wasn’t true. What Izumi said was right. He was fighting to lose. “Why does it matter?” Stabbing his finger through the hole, Edward ripped the fabric more.

“Because there are still people who care about you.” Izumi caught his chin, forcing his head up. 

Edward could still turn his eyes past her, at least until she thumped him in the forehead with her knuckle. “Ow, dammit!”

“You do know there are people who care about you, Edward.” It really wasn’t a question at all and her fingers were tightening on his jaw. 

“Ow. Yes.” He squirmed, trying to pull free and failing. 

“And people are still counting on you.” Izumi leaned closer, one of her braids hitting his cheek. “People still need you, Edward.” 

He nearly jerked free at that. “Need me? There isn’t anyone alive who needs me.” Gall rose with the words that spilled from his mouth like bile. “Everyone is capable of looking after themselves, Master. I’m just the reminder of what could go wrong, the threat to the little kids, ‘if you do something this stupid, you would wind up like Edward Elric’.” His voice didn’t rise over a whisper. “I’m tired of being the bad example, Master. I’m ready to be something else.”

“Then prove it, apprentice.” Izumi all but thrust him away from her. “Do something worthwhile to become the good example again.” 

Edward opened his mouth to retort but her eyes blazed at him in a way he remembered all too well – saying anything more was likely to get him stomped. He’d been stomped enough all too recently. It wasn’t fun. Neither was a catheter. “Fine.” He glanced away from Izumi in a sulk.

“I’m glad you agree with me because as soon as you’re released from this place, you’re coming to Dublith. I’m not letting you do something else to sully my name as your master.” Her smile turned deadly and Edward pushed farther away from her reflexively. “You’d better heal up quick, Ed. You’re going back into training.” 

* * *

“You’re going where?” Roy blinked, nonplussed. 

Edward had worried a large hole in his blanket, nearly big enough to shove his whole hand through. “Dublith.” He glared up at Roy. “You called her, didn’t you?”

“Called who?” Roy hated feeling like he had no clue what was going on. “Wait, your teacher?” By the snarl on the younger man’s face, Roy realized he’d hit on it. “That was Miss Rockbell’s idea.”

“Winry?” Edward choked on her name. 

“You’ve managed to upset Miss Rockbell, Edward, and I don’t think you know just how deeply your actions have hurt her.” Roy stared down at the restive young man, not surprised when Edward glanced away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Edward. Shutting out the people who truly care for you is not the way to combat this.”

“Who says I want to.” The hole in the blanket widened with Edward’s growl.

“All right, if not for yourself, then why not for her?” Brow knitting, Roy gestured toward the hallway and Winry, wherever she was. “She does care about you, Fullmetal, even if you’re too jackassed to realize it.” The boy was ignoring him or, at least, pretending to, but the tension in his shoulders said otherwise. “At any rate, it was her idea to contact your teacher. I had nothing to do with it.” And even if he’d been asked, Roy thought he probably would’ve agreed to it. Edward’s family, such as it was, kept dwindling. If his surrogate mother couldn’t reach him, if Miss Rockbell wasn’t able to get through, Roy wondered if Edward could be saved. 

“Fine. How soon can I leave this place?” Edward started making a new hole in his blanket, picking at a damaged thread in the weave. 

“Whenever your doctor says you’re able to travel, since you’re going to Dublith with your teacher.” Roy kept his voice level. “I’d suggest against moving you so soon, except that I don’t want to be saddled with you, either.” He smirked as Edward raised hot eyes to glare at him. “I can’t think of anyone who would, truthfully. Your teacher must be made of sterner stuff than the military. Don’t worry,” he added, as if imparting a favor, “I’ll make sure that you have plenty of medical leave.”

Growling, Edward thumped his automail hand on the mattress. “You bastard.” Even his favorite word for Roy didn’t carry the same vehemence; it seemed more like Edward was going through the motions than actually getting angry. 

“Maybe it’ll give you a chance to grow up, Fullmetal, since you still seem lacking in that department.”

That got Edward’s attention and the focus of his rage. “What did you say?”

“Come on, Edward. You don’t really think that living with a woman is enough to make you an adult?” To himself, Roy admitted he missed the fireworks that involved much of his conversations, such as they were, with Edward. He wished this was as much of a game as it had been previously. 

“I haven’t been a kid since I lost Al’s body.” The words came out stiff and icy though Edward’s eyes blazed. “Maybe I’m not living up to your expectations, Brigadier General,” he fairly spat that title out, making it an epitaph, “but I think I’ve done fairly well.”

Roy folded his arms. “Really? This is what you call doing fairly well? How many friends do you have left, Edward? What about your family?” 

“Al’s dead, you bastard.” His automail whined in protest though the splints kept Edward from fisting his other hand. 

“Mrs. Curtis, Mrs. Hughes and Miss Rockbell aren’t but if you keep using them like doormats, they’ll take the hint you’re offering. Strong women usually do and by the time you realize you want them back, they’ll have moved on.” Roy watched Edward’s jaw flex in response, the way his nostrils flared. If he hadn’t been hobbled by the cast on his forearm and the missing left leg, Roy thought Edward might’ve leaped out of the bed and challenged him. 

Instead, he turned his head away, loose hair effectively curtaining him from Roy’s stare. “Let them.” His automail hand moved languidly, making Roy wonder if Edward had increased the morphine drip when no one was looking. 

“Why? Because it’ll be easier for you to slip away if there isn’t anyone looking out for you?” Roy shook his head, his stomach twisting. That wasn’t what he’d wanted Edward to think. 

“That’s what you just said.” His voice darkened. “I don’t need this, _sir_.”

“Edward, if you spoke to your opponent that way, it’s no wonder you were smashed into the ground.” The woman’s voice came from the entryway to the ward, the hint of a southern accent in her words, though the words came out in a staccato rush, like machine gun fire. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightened, though Edward didn’t turn toward the woman as she entered the room. She crossed the ward, her sandals clicking on the old linoleum. “Ed?” 

He lowered his head, hair blocking his eyes from view. “What does it matter? I lost the fight. I told you that already, Master.” Edward tacked on her title at the end and, from the tone of his voice, Roy was sure the younger man was trying to pick another losing battle.

“You are a fool.” The woman knocked her fist against the top of Edward’s skull. “I don’t know why I’m volunteering to do this.” 

Roy thought he now knew where Edward had picked up that particular growl. Edward scowled at the woman through his bangs, a glare that should’ve flayed flesh from bone. “You could just leave me,” Edward began only to have her hand slap over his mouth. Expecting her to be bitten, Roy drew back, not wanting to be included in the fireworks and bloodshed but the boy, aside from jerking his head back, remained quiet. 

“I could,” Mrs. Curtis said, a particularly frightening curl to her mouth, “but where would be the fun in that?” 

Edward’s stricken expression answered all too well any question Roy had on the horrors that awaited him in Dublith. “Well,” he said, his own flirtatious smile back in place, “I’m sure you have plans to discuss with Edward, Mrs. Curtis, and I shall leave you to them.” He ignored Edward’s hiss of, “Don’t leave me with her!” to wave at them both, ducking out into the hallway. 

And when they said ‘discretion is the better part of valor’, Roy knew they were right.

* * * 

Winry took a deep breath, looking up at the crumbled façade of Edward’s apartment building. Somehow, it managed to look even more run down than it had before. Beside her, Mr. Curtis made a telltale sound of surprise, drawing her attention. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” she began and the comment petered out. It really wasn’t that much. The building wasn’t in a good part of town and the warm weather exacerbated the stench of sewage lingering in the air. “Well.” Winry started up the cracked stairs, thinking again how beautiful this building must have been at one time; how much work would be needed to bring it back to its prior splendor. 

Mr. Curtis followed her, moving quietly for such a big man. Even when they started up the creaky stairs, Winry didn’t really hear him. It was kind of creepy, to tell the truth, though she thought him trailing behind her wasn’t making her nearly as nervous as what she was going to face. 

Brigadier General Mustang had told her that he was going to release Edward on medical leave, to go with Mrs. Curtis to Dublith. He’d mentioned sending someone to Edward’s apartment to get his things and Winry had blurted out that she’d do it. Gracia protested that idea and Mr. Curtis volunteered to go with her. The two men had exchanged a look over her head that normally would’ve made her seethe but this time, Winry accepted the offer without argument. She really didn’t want to face Josephine Wagner alone. 

Edward had reluctantly told her which key went to his apartment, showing very ill grace, even for him. Winry figured he was pouting over being sent away with Mr. and Mrs. Curtis. The Brigadier General had told her that it would be best that Edward not be allowed to return to his apartment himself; that it would be far easier for him to make a clean break if he didn’t have that chance to reconnect with Josephine, though he hadn’t exactly put it in those words. No, he’d been more blunt, his arms folded and his face grim, advising Winry and Mr. Curtis that there might be opium or alcohol squirreled away in the apartment and Edward would know all the hiding places. Best that someone else get his things and he not be allowed to choose what he wanted to take. 

Winry hated the duplicity of all this but understood why it was necessary. It was just difficult to think of Edward as being…sick this way. His misery; she understood that all too well, though finally, it seemed she might be moving past Alphonse’s death. Not healing; no, there would always be a huge wound in her heart for him; the same as for her parents and grandmother; even Den’s death hadn’t left her unscarred. Life had to go on and Winry had other people to live for, not just Alphonse, and now she had to be strong for his idiot brother and face Edward’s lover. There was always a chance that Josephine wouldn’t be at the apartment but Winry didn’t hope too much for that.

It seemed to Winry that it grew more difficult to climb the closer she got to the third floor of the building and Edward’s apartment. The air felt thicker and her shoes felt heavier. She shook it off, knowing it was her own emotions playing tricks on her. A board sighed under Mr. Curtis’ weight as they walked along the worn carpet to Edward’s apartment. Winry fished the key out of her pocket but stood still, waiting for a few seconds, before she knocked. The first time, her knuckles barely made any sound against the wood, making her roll her eyes at her own timidity. The second time, she rapped at the door loud enough that a neighbor down the hall peered out at them, ducking back inside at the sight of Mr. Curtis. She clearly heard the sound of someone locking a door, feeling her stomach sink. _Ed, you idiot. You could’ve done so much better._

As if that thought conjured her, the door opened, a green eye appearing in the opening above the chain catch. That eye swept over Winry, the words, “Oh, it’s you,” sounding muffled but still irritated.

“We need to come in, Miss Wagner.” Winry found her fists clenching and she forced them to relax. 

The door closed, the faint rattle of the chain being released coming through it, then the door swung open. Josephine blocked the opening with her body, her mouth curled in a wicked smile. “Why should I actually let you in? There’s nothing you want here, is there?” She flaunted her figure, as if that might be a temptation.

Winry managed to keep from sneering but only just. “Mr. Curtis and I are here to collect Edward’s things.” Putting her hand on the door panel, Winry shoved, sending Josephine staggering back a few steps. That was enough for Winry to push her way inside, trusting Mr. Curtis to follow her. 

“Collect his things?” Josephine scooped her curls off her face, somehow managing to not look the least bit discomfited by Winry’s actions. “Why?” She slunk across the room to a low table, picking up a cigarette and taking a long drag off of it. “Did he die?” The words came out with a puff of smoke, as distant and cold as Briggs. 

Trembling, Winry shoved her hands deep into her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to hit Josephine. “He’s alive. He’s going to be fine.” She bit back whatever else she might have said, turning the tables on Josephine. “Ed sent us to get his things. He’s not coming back here.”

Josephine let out a low laugh, folding her arms. “Really? Is that what you think?” She moved closer to Winry, leaning over her, something both predatory and seductive in her stance. “He’ll come running back just as soon as he can.” Her smoky words caressed Winry’s cheek, making her want to wipe her skin clean. 

“No, he won’t.” Mr. Curtis had a voice that could’ve boomed out to fill all the corners of the room. Instead, he spoke calmly, though not quietly, simply stating the facts as he saw them. “The apartment is paid up to the end of the month. After that, you can lease it yourself or move. It’s your choice.” 

The slight widening of her eyes showed Josephine’s surprise though she moved to quickly cover it up. “Edward wouldn’t just leave me like that.”

“Yes, he would,” Mr. Curtis said solemnly and Josephine turned her full attention to him, her brows furrowing. 

“Edward’s too good a man to do that.” A tremor ran through Winry at Josephine’s words. Josephine’s expression was troubled now; confused. She brushed at her curls in agitation this time, barely hiding the tremble in her hand. “He wouldn’t just leave me, not this way.” Swallowing, she stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray, folding herself onto the couch, her arms crossed over her chest. “He’s not going to leave me. He knows I can’t stand being alone.” 

Winry bit her lower lip, turning away from Josephine’s obvious pain. She stared at the books on the shelves as a way to distract herself, wondering idly if any of them were Edward’s. Since he and Alphonse burned down their house, Edward had lived out of a suitcase. Any unnecessary item was tossed aside, though Winry had a tiny collection of souvenirs from both their childhoods and their travels. Somehow, she doubted Edward would’ve changed his lifestyle. The furniture probably came with the apartment and Edward had never shown any interest in music, so the records had to belong to Josephine. Tuning out whatever Mr. Curtis was saying to the woman, Winry made her way to the bookshelf, quickly deducing that these books weren’t Edward’s, either. One caught her eye and she took it down. Untitled, it was bound in black, tiny scraps of paper marking places in it. Winry opened it, realizing upon seeing the familiar scritchy letters that this was Edward’s alchemy journal. She flipped through the pages, seeing tiny maps drawn out, a list of places that Edward wanted to go in Amestris toward the back. There was a page torn in half and Winry wondered where the missing part might be then shrugged it off. Edward may have had to leave a note to someone and no other paper been available.

“What are you doing?” The sharp question broke Winry from her reverie. Josephine glared at her, her hands clenched so tightly, her knuckles were bone white. “Put that back.”

“We’re here to collect Edward’s things.” Mr. Curtis spoke gently but his voice remained firm. 

“But he’s coming here.” Josephine shot him a glare. “He’s coming back here to live. With me.” That comment was pointedly thrown Winry’s way. 

“He is not coming back, Josephine.” Winry closed the journal, cradling it in her arms. “He’s going away.” She wouldn’t tell Josephine where, no, not give her any chance to try to locate Edward. “He’s sick and he needs to heal and he can’t do it here.” She crossed the room, moving slow, not getting too close to the taller woman. Lowering her voice, Winry said, “You have to understand that, Josie, that Ed needs to get better. We’re going to do everything we can for him but we can’t do it here.” 

Rising to her feet, Josephine stalked toward Winry. “He’s coming back here to live.” Mr. Curtis moved after her, his gaze not leaving Josephine. 

“No.” She shook her head slowly, deliberately, not backing away. “Ed’s not.” 

Josephine’s fists trembled, the tendons in her neck standing out. “He is.” The words came out in a hissed breath. 

Winry hated having to tilt her head back to meet Josephine’s eyes. The taller woman almost blotted out the room. Winry could just see Mr. Curtis behind her, ready to grab Josephine if he needed to. A memory of the last time she’d been in this apartment came to Winry and she grasped at it. Making her voice calm, matter of fact, she said, “You said I was his goddess, remember? He’ll do whatever I tell him to do to make me happy.” 

The words struck Josephine like a blow, actually making her stagger. “N-no.” 

Winry took a step toward her, making Josephine back up. “Yes. I’ve come to claim what’s mine, Josephine. You’ve had your fun with Edward. That’s over now.” Any sense of compassion she had for the other woman was gone, evaporated like a puddle of water on a hot day. “He won’t be coming back here.” Josephine’s face crumpled at that and she moved jerkily to the sofa, sinking down onto it. Her hands went up to cover her face, the cigarette forgotten as she let out a low, keening moan. Winry swallowed hard but forced herself to ignore the other woman’s misery. Turning abruptly, she went on into the bedroom, setting Edward’s journal on the dresser before opening the drawers. As she’d suspected, very few were devoted to Edward’s use and it didn’t take long before his clothing, what little there was of it, was laid out on the bed. Winry found a battered suitcase in the closet and used that to pack the clothing, heading on into the bathroom to search for any more personal items. The toothbrush, she’d leave behind, though the shaving kit and hairbrush, with its telltale golden strands, were going. Winry found a comb that matched the brush and tucked all the bathroom items into the suitcase, taking a final look around the bedroom. 

She almost missed the photograph, squirreled away on the bedside table. Winry wasn’t sure what made her go look but she caught sight of a flash of red and, before she realized it, she’d moved the base of the lamp out of the way. The picture was faded with dog-eared corners and was of all of them – Edward and Alphonse, Granny, Den and her. Winry wasn’t sure she remembered this picture being taken but they were all – mostly – looking toward whoever had taken the photo. She recognized the porch of her old house and Alphonse was still thin, so it was soon after he’d gotten his body back. Alphonse had his arm around her shoulders and her hand was on his thigh. Granny sat next to Winry, a wicked grin wreathing her face as she said something. Den was starting to look back, away from the camera and Edward…his left hand rested on Alphonse’s shoulder though the wistful expression on his face was turned toward her.

Swallowing, Winry slipped the photograph inside Ed’s journal, putting the book inside the suitcase and closing the lid. She latched it tight, swinging it off the bed, carrying the bag out of the bedroom. “I’m ready, Mr. Curtis.” 

Josephine looked from him to her, catching her lower lip between her teeth and chewing on it. “He’s coming back here, Edward is.” 

“No.” Winry simply felt exhausted, wanted to leave this place. “He never will.” Setting down the suitcase, she fished the key out of her pocket, holding it up so Josephine could see it. “Ed’s key.” She placed it on the table next to the door. “Goodbye, Josephine.” Picking up the case, Winry twisted the doorknob, feeling its stiffness before she could pull the door open. 

Mr. Curtis caught the door before it could slam shut again, following Winry through it and closing it quietly behind them. He reached for the bag and Winry hesitated before releasing it. “She has to find her own way, Miss Rockbell.”

With a jerky nod, Winry started for the stairs. “I know. Everyone does.” Some people, she thought, seemed to have to make it much harder on themselves.

* * *


	12. One Year, Six Months, Part 8

The doctor had okayed Edward leaving the hospital three days after Mr. and Mrs. Curtis arrived. Winry wasn’t sure if she was relieved at this or not. There had been a consultation – many consultations, in fact; the first involving Ed telling the physician that he didn’t have a problem. The second had been between the doctor and Mr. Mustang, though Winry had sat in on that one, too. Mr. Mustang insisted she attend that particular meeting, explaining that, as Edward’s mechanic and also the one closest to the situation, her opinion and concerns were valuable. The doctor had agreed to allow her to attend the meeting, though Winry thought he took a dim view of her being there and directed all his comments and questions to Mr. Mustang, even when she spoke directly to the doctor. Her frustration nearly led her to leave the room but her concern for Ed convinced her to stay. The final meeting had been between the Curtises, Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Mustang and herself, deciding exactly what would happen with Edward.

In between the meetings, the amount of morphine in Edward’s saline drip was reduced. His reaction was immediate and intense – letting Winry know just how addicted he’d become. Sitting up all night while Edward vomited himself practically inside out; stripping the bedding and him when he lost control of his bowels; dealing with his nausea and fevers and the nightmares that suddenly struck wore Winry out faster than she expected. 

She wasn’t the only one subjected to Ed’s withdrawal symptoms. Izumi – she suggested Winry drop the ‘Mrs. Curtis’ while they were bathing Edward after a particularly grueling bout of diarrhea – Ed had been too exhausted to even protest their view of his naked form – took her turns, as did Gracia and Mr. Curtis. But Winry couldn’t forget Edward’s eyes following her every time she tried to leave to get some rest, to take a few minutes away from him to gather herself up. As long as he needed her, she hated walking away. 

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Gracia scolded gently as she guided Winry down the hospital hallway, taking her to the cantina to make her eat. “You have to maintain your own strength so you can be strong for him.”

Winry knew Gracia was right. Even so, she was haunted by that expression Edward wore when she walked away from him, as if he was afraid she’d leave and not come back. She didn’t know how to tell him she wouldn’t do that. Both of them had too much experience in people going away. 

She would be traveling with Ed and the Curtises from Central City until they reached Rush Valley. Winry would return to work then, finish up the commissions she had, make Ed’s new leg and travel farther south to Dublith. She hoped her stop off wouldn’t take more than a week. It wasn’t something she’d talked to Ed about. He was too sick to follow much of a conversation right now beyond, ‘Try to drink something.’ “I don’t know how to tell him,” she muttered, staring at the food behind the counter without really seeing it. 

Gracia squeezed her shoulder, her hand warm through Winry’s clothing. “I know it’s hard.” 

Winry nodded, a little dazed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten – probably a good reason to get something but none of the food set out looked very good. “I can’t order anything.” The words came out in a pained grumble. 

“I’ll get you something to eat. Why don’t you decide what you want to drink?” Gracia indicated the young woman at the far end of the line, handing a cup across the counter, her smile almost radiant. Winry had to blink twice at her before she really came into focus and made her way toward that part of the cantina. 

The sounds around her were so much background noise, a blurred buzzing that did little to attract her attention. Winry found herself in front of the girl, her short dark hair glossy beneath her little hat, grinning at her in welcome. Winry couldn’t help but smile back. “Do you want something to drink?” the girl asked.

“Yes, I guess,” Winry rubbed at one of her eyes, thinking they felt gritty, “just hot tea. And a glass of water.” Eyes closing as she waited for the drinks, Winry realized how easy it would be to fall asleep standing up. _Like a horse._ Of course, four legs were probably steadier than two and if she didn’t open her eyes now, she’d probably fall down and wind up in the bed next to Ed’s. The thought that he might like it pulled her eyes open in time to see the young woman passing the cup of tea and glass of water across the counter. 

“Are you all right, ma’am?” she asked as Winry fumbled for the sens to pay the bill. 

Nodding, Winry handed over the money, waving off the change. She made her way to one of the tables, sitting at it to wait for Gracia. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor made her jerk her eyes open and Winry blinked a few times, realizing she’d fallen asleep.

“See? You’re wearing yourself down to a nub.” Gracia adjusted her seat, setting a bowl of soup in front of Winry, as well as a sandwich half. “And I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday. I understand that Ed needs you but you need to take care of yourself. If you don’t, you won’t be any good to him.”

Winry stirred the soup before sipping a spoonful. The taste of salt and chicken broth seemed to dance over her tongue and Winry had to restrain herself from picking up the bowl and drinking from it. Her stomach let out a growl she was sure the entire cafeteria could hear as she supped. Gracia hid her smile behind a fold of her napkin. “Your body knows what it needs, Winry. Eat. And if that isn’t enough, I’ll get you more.” The motherly expression Gracia wore made Winry duck her head. “And you should at least take a nap.”

“I’ll rest on the train.” Winry mumbled around her bite of sandwich. Surely Ed would be better by then and she’d be able to sleep. Catching some of the chicken salad as it spilled out of the bread, Winry licked her finger clean. She tried to ignore Gracia’s studious look. “I can’t leave him, Gracia.”

“I understand how much he needs you, Winry, but you just said you’ll have to spend time in Rush Valley.” Gracia reached across the table, laying her hand on Winry’s. “I know he’s sick and I know you want to take care of him. You can’t do it all.”

The nearly empty bowl of soup and crumbs of sandwich showed Winry just how right Gracia was but, “He’s already landed in the hospital because of all this.” Her fingers twirled in the air, meaning Alphonse’s death; everything that had happened since then. “I have to help him pick himself back up so he can keep moving forward.” Never mind that he hadn’t moved in any direction but down in a long time. This was Edward. He could pull himself out of this rut. He’d done it before; he just needed to be reminded he could do it again. The idea that Edward might not be able to didn’t bear thinking about. “Besides, I’m used to all-nighters. I’ll rest,” Winry hesitated, looking at her empty plate. She’d be busy in Rush Valley, working on automail for her customers. It wasn’t fair to ask Mr. Garfiel to do that, though she was sure he would. 

“When?” Gracia’s gentle question brought Winry back to the present. “On the train?” She sighed. “Winry, you have to take care of you. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis will take care of Ed while you come back to my house and take a nap.” When she opened her mouth to protest, Gracia raised a finger. “It’s already been arranged. When you wake up, you can come back to the hospital.” At Winry’s glance toward the doorway, Gracia went on. “Mr. and Mrs. Curtis have it under control. Ed, I mean. You’re my ward.” Though the words sounded funny, Gracia’s expression brooked no argument and Winry found herself stumbling to her feet to follow the older woman to her car. 

Later, Winry couldn’t remember the drive to Gracia’s home, and barely recalled getting inside the house. All she did remember was the sweet fragrance of roses on her pillow before she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Everything hurt. Edward felt like his skin was stretched too tight over his body. Joints he didn’t know existed had needles sewing through them, even through his automail limbs, worse even than before a thunderstorm. His tongue rasped over his dry lips, flannel over sandpaper, and his eyes were so dry, they itched behind his eyelids. “Nnuuuunng.” Sand lined his throat while bile ate at his stomach and Edward hoped he wouldn’t have to throw up again. He thought he’d been doing that too much lately but he couldn’t quite tell. Memories were twisted and strange right now, like he saw them through a fog. 

“Ed? You’re awake?” His master looked down at him, smiling brightly. “I’m glad to see that. Are you thirsty?” 

Smacking his mouth, Edward winced at the sensation in his jaw. He almost wished it was automail so he could have Winry grease it. “Winry?” Twisting his body, he searched for her despite the agony moving put him in to. 

“She’s resting, Edward.” Mr. Curtis’ form blocked Edward’s view of the doorway.

“Where?” He didn’t see her in the other bed. “Winry?” He raised his voice. 

“She isn’t here, Ed.” Izumi shook her head slowly, as if she knew Edward couldn’t follow any fast movements. “She’s resting. She’ll be back soon.”

It hurt his head to frown, all the way down into his brain. “Why?”

“Because she needed to rest.” Izumi frowned back. “Now, do you want something to drink, or not?”

The dry swallow made his throat ache but Edward waved off the question, trying to sit up. Every movement seemed to concentrate first in his joints and twist his skin into knots. He didn’t care, forcing his body to continue moving. “Winry.” 

Izumi’s strong hands pushed him back onto the bed. “You’re not getting up, Ed. Winry’s not even in the hospital and you’re in no shape to try to find her.” He struggled against her grip, realizing she was strong enough to keep him pinned. Lips curling back from his teeth, Edward snarled at Izumi. She ignored the threat. “Do you want her so sick she can’t help you? Stay where you are. Don’t do something so stupid as make her worry any more than she already does.”

Panting, he glared at his master. The words wouldn’t come to explain why he had to get up and find Winry. Maybe he shouldn’t even tell Izumi. Maybe she wasn’t Izumi Curtis. Sure, he’d seen Envy commit suicide…hadn’t he? But what if it was a trick? What if Envy was here, now, keeping him pinned to this bed? Bradley had made Winry a hostage and that bastard, Kimbley, was willing to use her to keep Edward under control. Whatever Bradley did, Envy was aware of and that meant Winry could be in danger. “Le’ me go.” He tried to force himself up but Izumi kept him flat on the mattress, didn’t even seem to have a problem with holding him down.

“Do you remember your leg was crushed and removed?” She jerked her chin to the space where his left leg should have been. “And that you were in surgery? You’re not leaving the hospital, Ed.”

“Listen to her, Edward.” Someone moved into view over Izumi’s shoulder. Edward blinked the sweat out of his eyes, trying to focus his vision. Was that Sloth? How did the homunculi get into this place? 

“Winry?” Her name escaped him and Edward swore at himself for letting that happen. They’d use her, hurt her, and he couldn’t protect her with Envy holding him down. “Let go of me, you bastard!” He punched at that sneering face. 

“Whoa!” Envy laughed, dodging. “Didn’t I tell you before, pipsqueak? I don’t like to fight.”

“Don’t. Call.” Edward shook off the hands. “Me. Pipsqueak!” At the last word, his right leg swung up, knocking into that despised form, sending it sprawling. Envy chuckled, rising to its feet, jaw elongating. Sloth moved in and Edward flung himself off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. “Shit!” No leg. Where was his leg? What had they done with it? 

“Edward!” Envy shouted at him, sounding weirdly concerned. 

“No!” He grabbed hold of the bed, using it to haul himself upright. Sloth was prowling around, just out of range. Edward swallowed hard, wishing he didn’t feel so hot and tired. Winry needed him. Something caught his eye and Edward realized he might be able to escape this place, if he could just get to the window. 

“Ed, what do you think you’re doing?” Envy glared, a really evil look, but Edward scrambled back, managing to hold onto the bed to keep from falling again. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Sloth said, the most coherent thing Edward could remember coming out of the homunculus’ mouth. 

“No need. To worry.” Edward had to take a breath. “‘Bout me.” Where was Al? Why wasn’t Al here helping him? Or that stupid prince? One of them was always around – did he tell them to protect Winry? They wouldn’t just leave him alone with the homunculi, would they? He tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes, smacking himself in the nose hard enough he saw stars. “The hell?” The thing on his arm made no sense. Edward wondered if it was something to keep him from using his alchemy.

“Ed, you’ve been sick,” Envy was saying. “You need to lie back down before you fall down.” 

“You’d. Like.” The last word seemed stuck in his throat. Edward couldn’t get it out. Sick? Why? He’d never been sick before. Not since he was a little kid. He couldn’t afford to get sick, not when Al needed him. Where was Al, anyway? Maybe he needed to go looking for his little brother before he tried to find Winry. “What’ve. Done.” He hated that he had to catch his breath again. “Al?” He could just make out Sloth and Envy exchanging glances. Slinging his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes, Edward readied himself for their attack as best he could without letting go of the metal head rail. 

“You’re hallucinating, Ed.” Envy’s voice took on a placating note as it started for him. 

Sloth moved to block him from the window. “You should be in bed.” 

“Nnnng-no!” He shook his head, realizing that made the room swim. Edward had to close his eyes for a few seconds, taking deep gasps of air, trying to keep from falling. His knee buckled and even the grip his metal hand had on the rail didn’t keep him from crashing to the floor. It seemed to take a long time, long enough for Edward to remember that time in Gluttony’s belly with Ling and Envy. Long enough for Edward to remember the heat of the blood spilling out of Alphonse’s stomach. 

His guts turned to acid and Edward heaved, feeling everything within him try to turn inside out. Bile spilled out of his mouth, burning his throat, making his nose run. Hands grasped his shoulders and Edward turned, vomiting on Sloth, as if that might scare off the Homunculus. 

“We told you you were sick.” Envy stroked his forehead with something cool and damp. Edward wondered what sort of sick reason the homunculus might have for being nice. It had to be a trick, something to make Edward let down his guard. He snapped at Envy’s hand, teeth clicking hard against each other as Envy jerked back. “Ed!”

“Lemme the fuck go!” He thrashed, trying to break free. Tightening his grip around Edward’s torso, Sloth held Edward tight against his chest. 

“Get a doctor,” he grunted as Edward’s automail elbow dug unerringly in Sloth’s kidneys and Edward saw Envy back up, running for the door. 

The realization struck that Sloth was stronger than he was, though Edward had his doubts the homunculus was smarter. Rather than fight, he let his body go limp, sagging against Sloth’s grip. He coughed, no difficulty in that, his ribs aching from this encounter, then slumped in the homunculus’ arms. 

“Ed?” 

Sloth’s concern was disconcerting but Edward ignored it, even as a ham-sized hand stroked his sweat-slicked hair away from his face. It was hard to stay still with those fingers so close to his mouth but Edward let his head bobble from the touch rather than whip around and bite. Keeping his eyes half-closed was the most difficult thing; his lids wanted to flicker and move but he guessed he was doing a good job when Sloth lifted him up and laid him back on the bed. Inwardly, Edward seethed – he’d been trying to get out of the bed and now he was back in it – but at least he’d duped Sloth into letting him go. The homunculus lumbered toward the door, voice raised in alarm. 

Taking a deep breath, Edward forced his hands together, activating a transmutation circle. The familiar scent of ozone tickled his nose, the bluish light swirled around him. When the light died down, the transmutation revealed a pegleg with straps. It wasn’t as good as Winry’s automail but if it got him around until he found her and Alphonse, it would do. Strapping the pegleg into place, Edward carefully slid off the bed, testing his self-made prosthesis. His thigh fell into the cup, the metal of his automail port ringing softly against the rim of the prosthesis. Grimacing, Edward wondered if he dare take the time to tighten the cup, deciding that could wait until he’d escaped the homunculi. 

Edward took a few hobbling steps. The pegleg didn’t work even as easily as the loaner legs the Rockbells produced. Surprised the sound of the leg clacking on the floor didn’t alert Sloth, Edward limped toward the wall. He could transmute his own exit. As he pressed his hands together, he realized he had no idea where to even start his search for Alphonse and Winry. His stomach twisted again, the sensation nearly spilling him to the floor. Edward grabbed for the wall, windmilling his arms, managing to grab hold of something that rattled and clattered. Vision swimming, he tried to focus on what he’d run into. Whatever lay on the top of it looked like instruments of torture. 

“Ed!” 

The shout startled him, sending him in a half-circle toward the door. It felt like his head kept spinning without him. Edward found himself on the floor, the world circling around him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Master Izumi knelt beside him, grabbing his shoulders and holding him down. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Someone else was on his other side. Edward felt something sting his arm, making him let out a pained, “Ow.” He couldn’t seem to turn his head to see what bit him. 

“It’s all right, Lieutenant Colonel.” The voice soothed but Edward couldn’t tell who was talking to him. “Everything is going to be fine.” 

_No, it isn’t,_ Edward tried to protest but his tongue felt thick and strange in his mouth and wasn’t cooperating. Wanting to stand, to get away, he attempted to thrust himself up, only to collapse back to the floor, the weight of Izumi’s hands still on him. _So stupid,_ was the last thought in his mind before the black arms from Truth’s doorway dragged him through the opening, the door slamming behind him. 

* * *


	13. One Year, Six Months, Part 9

Staring up at the white limestone building in front of her, Winry took a deep breath. The edifice seemed to glare back at her, unyielding despite her many visits, the time she’d spent within its walls. She started at the touch on her shoulder, looking back to see Gracia’s warm smile. “Go on.” Gracia nodded encouragingly. “You know he’s waiting for you.”

Winry let the air out of her lungs in a long sigh. “Yeah.” Her legs seemed to move under their own volition up the steps and through the doors. The scent of the hospital washed over her as she entered, coating her throat and lodging in her sinuses and lungs until she wasn’t sure if she would ever be rid of the stink of disinfectants and death. _Ed’s getting better,_ she reminded herself forcefully. _His doctor said he’d be cleared to leave soon._ Winry refused to allow her doubts about Edward’s state of mind surface, not now. 

The walk to his room seemed to take forever. Lost in her thoughts, in arguments she had with herself in her head, Winry didn’t see Mr. Curtis at first. She nearly walked past him and might have continued down the hall if he hadn’t spoken. “Miss Winry.”

“Uh?” She startled, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, Mr. Curtis! How’s Ed?”

The creases in his face deepened. “He’s sleeping now.” There was more, Winry knew just from the tone of his voice, the expression on Mr. Curtis’ face. He nodded at Gracia. “We should get out of the hall.” Beckoning them to follow, he led the way into a private room. 

Edward lay on the bed, his body wrapped in five point restraints. The leather and buckles were softened by sheepskin but no less effective. The restraint that should have held Edward’s left ankle remained empty. Sweat slicked his face, staining the neck of his hospital shirt. He smelled rank, the stink rising even over the smell of disinfectant. Under closed lids, his eyes rolled and his jaw clenched tightly enough Winry could hear his teeth grinding. 

“What happened?” She hated how her voice shook. 

Izumi seemed to appear out of nowhere, surprising her. “He was hallucinating. The restraints are for his own protection.” Her dark eyes narrowed as she looked at her erstwhile apprentice. “He transmuted the frame of his bed into a prosthesis. Ed was going to walk out of the hospital and find you.” Stance softening, Izumi laid a hand on Winry’s shoulder. “He mistook Sig and me for some of his old enemies and I’m guessing he thought we might threaten you. Before the medication took effect, he begged for you and Al to be spared.” 

Winry heard Gracia’s soft, dismayed whisper behind her. She wondered what nightmare Edward had been caught up in this time. How many bad dreams had she woken him from over the years? A wet towel, hanging half out of a basin of water, caught her attention. Taking it, she wrung out the excess water, using the towel to clean Edward’s face. “It’s okay, Ed. Just a bad dream.” The words were a litany in her ears. Edward’s neck corded and Winry could hear the hydraulics in his automail arm straining. “Ed! It’s okay.” She raised her voice, hoping to reach him. “You’re all right, you’re just hurt. You’re in a hospital.” Smoothing the cloth down his neck, Winry dabbed at a pool of sweat in the hollow of his throat. 

“Oh, Dr. Rockbell.” Winry turned slightly to see Nurse Ferrell. The older woman offered her a smile that was less professional and more disturbed. “The Lieutenant Colonel – well, I’m sure your friends explained.” Nodding at the Curtises, Nurse Ferrell turned her attention back to her patient. “The Lieutenant Colonel is very strong.” 

“Stubborn, you mean.” Gracia’s voice wavered slightly but when Winry glanced back, her friend seemed to be in control of her emotions. 

“He is a brat.” Izumi folded her arms as Mr. Curtis grunted his agreement. 

Nurse Ferrell checked Edward’s pulse, writing notes in his chart afterward. “I understand he’s scheduled to leave soon. Dr. Englehardt said that the Lieutenant Colonel should be all right to travel but he hasn’t been notified of this yet.” She jerked her chin at the restraints.

“You mean, he might have to stay here longer?” Winry couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice. She didn’t want Edward in the hospital. If he was going to get better, he needed to be able to move around. Edward was too restless to remain still very long. Even drugged, Winry could see how he chafed at his bonds. The cast on his arm already showed wear from the constant testing against the binding. 

Favoring her with a wry smile, Nurse Ferrell said, “I really don’t want him to stay, Dr. Rockbell. I don’t think it would do the Lieutenant Colonel any good to be here.”

Izumi leaned her hands on the mattress, where Edward’s left leg should have been. “It wouldn’t.”

“He’s…very active,” Gracia chimed in. 

As if on cue, Edward squirmed hard, tossing his head and panting. Winry had to pick the towel from the floor, tossing it into the linen hamper to be washed. “He’s a lot of trouble for you,” she said.

“I think he might be a lot of trouble for anyone.” The nurse made a few more notes before checking the restraints. “He’s fighting the drugs we used to knock him out now.” 

Taking a new towel, Winry dampened it to smooth the cool cloth across Edward’s forehead. “He did that when he was a kid.” She remembered how he’d pushed himself past the agony he had to be in, determined to make good on his promise to Alphonse. _What would Al think if he saw you now, Ed?_

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Gracia’s question brought Winry out of her thoughts. “I mean, Ed’s…addicted, right? But if he’s fighting these drugs, does that mean he’s getting better?”

“That would be up to Dr. Englehardt to answer.” Finishing up with her notes, Nurse Ferrell screwed the cap on her pen and slipped it back in her pocket. Her demeanor softened as she took in their faces. “I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. The Lieutenant Colonel’s hallucinations aren’t a good sign but,” she rolled her shoulders, “this hospital isn’t really equipped to deal with alchemists, either.” 

Izumi spoke up from her place near Edward’s foot. “So you’re saying that, whether or not he actually should leave, he may be kicked out before he should actually be released?”

Her mouth tightening, Nurse Ferrell lowered her gaze and repeated, “That’s up to Dr. Englehardt. It’s probably a good thing the Lieutenant Colonel could be subdued and no one was hurt.” She nodded at them, saying, “I’m sorry, I do have other patients,” and walked out of the room. 

The door clicked shut behind Nurse Ferrell and Winry turned her attention back to Edward. His fingers curled, the sound of his metal digits clicking together the only noise in the room for a few seconds. “Well.” Gracia tried to make her voice bright, Winry could tell. “I think I need some coffee. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, would you like anything from the canteen?”

Winry watched Edward’s face as she smoothed the damp cloth over his skin. His mouth opened and closed and he swallowed then licked his lips. She wondered when he’d last had something to drink. When he woke, she’d ask him. Edward’s nostrils flared when her hand moved near it and he turned his face slightly toward her. A faint crease showed on his forehead and Winry wondered if he was waking up or starting to have another nightmare. “I’ll be okay with him, if you’d like to take a break, Izumi.” When Izumi made to protest, Winry offered the older woman a smile. “You’ve been here while I slept. You need to get away for a while, too.” 

“You know she’s right, honey,” Mr. Curtis said, laying his beefy hand on Izumi’s shoulder. Over her light protests, he guided his wife out of the room, giving Winry a grateful nod. Or, Winry assumed it was grateful. Mr. Curtis’ face was so hard to read. 

Gracia closed the door behind them softly, leaving Winry and Edward alone again. Waiting for a few seconds to make sure no one would suddenly burst back through the doorway, Winry rubbed her cool hands together. Edward’s face still turned toward her, his nose twitching. 

Gooseflesh rose on her forearms and thighs at a sudden revelation and Winry wished she knew why it felt so strange to even think on it. Inhaling deeply, she had to force her hand to move. The backs of her fingers clumsily brushed over Edward’s cheek, the feeling of stubble strange against her skin. Winry bit her lower lip and moved her hand to touch the opposite cheek, her wrist stretched nearly over Edward’s nose. 

It took a few seconds this time, his breath tickling the sensitive skin. When he inhaled deeply, Winry almost missed it, distracted by a sound in the hallway. She looked back in time to see the furrow deepening on Edward’s brow and his nostrils flaring. He exhaled and Winry thought for sure he sniffed before taking a deeper breath. 

Everyone had a particular scent, Winry knew. If she closed her eyes, she could conjure up the way Granny had smelled; of pipe tobacco and metal; dry skin and warmth. Alphonse had, in turn, smelled like a grubby little boy, then of steel, oil, rust and leather. When his body was returned, he smelled like morning dew and sunshine, and that faint, ozone hint of alchemy. Winry never thought about what she might smell like: her favorite soap, scented with lilacs, metal, because what automail mechanic didn’t. Still, she knew the way Edward’s body smelled - _machine oil and metal; ozone, like lightning had just struck, stronger than Al’s scent, always stronger; an indefinable musk, sometimes tinged with sorrow or sickness or fear but other times blazing like the sun on a summer’s day_ \- could find him by that combined scent alone. And Winry didn’t doubt that Edward knew her by her scent, even if it was weird to consider. 

“Edward.” She coaxed him with his name. “Ed, everything’s okay.” Deliberately, Winry cupped her hand close to his nose, letting him breathe her in. “You had a bad dream and scared some people but that’s all it was, a nightmare.” He’d had so many, right after Alphonse and he had tried to bring their mother back to life. Winry forced the thought away of how many more nightmares Al’s death had probably caused, though the words blared in her mind like a trumpet, _No wonder he’d turned to opium._ Shoving aside the wave of guilt that threatened to drown her, Winry made herself think again of the here and now. The past could not be changed, you could only stand up and walk forward. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Ed, but I’m here now. I’m right here and everything’s going to be okay.” Memories rose, of sitting next to Edward’s bed when they were kids, when she and Granny were preparing him for his surgery. Of being there for him in the middle of the night, when the fever spiked his temperature. Of sitting beside him, trying to talk him out of those fever dreams and nightmares, so they both could rest. Of waking up in the morning, her back cricked from sleeping on a stool and leaning across the mattress to share Edward’s pillow, feeling his nose or cheek pressed against her skull as she tried to sit upright again. 

Her heart squeezed so hard, it seemed like it might shatter. Winry swallowed, chewing on her lip, fighting the tears that welled in her eyes. She would not let them color her voice. Edward wouldn’t wake to her crying. “Everything’s okay, Ed.” And it would be, Winry promised herself. Edward would get better and then…

And then, everything would be okay. 

* * *

He could hear the roaring of Tucker’s chimeras. If Edward didn’t get out of these bindings, the insane alchemist would turn him into another monster like his wife; into another Nina. He growled, straining against the bonds. How the hell had he been tricked? He remembered Envy and Sloth, trying to keep him from escaping. Had they given him to Tucker? If Tucker transmuted him into a chimera, could he still be used as a sacrifice? 

“Like hell I’m waiting to find out.” Edward strained against the bindings, panting when he couldn’t break free. He didn’t know what was holding him down. The lighting was too dim for him to see anything and the noise from the chimeras so loud, he could barely think. If his brain didn’t feel so foggy, maybe he could draw a transmutation circle and activate it, but Edward couldn’t string two thoughts together. 

Tucker must’ve shot him up with something to take the fight out of him. Edward fought against whatever was in his system. Lightning bolts of pain rippled through his body; from his flesh arm and through his ribs; over his midsection and groin. God. What had that bastard done? Testing each of the bindings separately, Edward tried to break free. He had to get out of here, warn…warn Hughes. No. Hughes was dead, wasn’t he? Mustang? The Colonel would do something, Edward was pretty sure of it. 

He tossed his head, groaning. It didn’t matter who he told, he just had to get free to do it. Tucker had to be stopped; his chimera weren’t even human any more, not like Lion King and Donkey Kong. Edward wasn’t going to be changed into some kind of monster, not when Al needed him. 

Growls and hisses chipped away at his nerves, making Edward fight harder to free himself. The jolts of pain running through his body reminded him of the fight he’d lost, with that horse-faced woman. 

“Give up, Eddie.”

The hell? “Josie?”

She slinked out of the shadows, a curl of cigarette smoke wreathing her face. It wasn’t enough to hide her malicious smile. He trembled at the sight of it, knowing that particular grin never meant anything good. The corners of her mouth tilted up, showing a brilliant expanse of white teeth and Josephine spread her fingers wide. “I met an old friend of yours, Eddie. He showed me a world beyond any I’d ever imagined.” Her hand twisted and lances shot out of her fingertips. Josephine’s dreamy voice went on as her fingers hovered near Edward’s face. “He looked like you, Edward, young, beautiful. He made me his own.” The tips of her nails _changed_ and Edward jerked against his bindings, trying to escape the needles in front of his eyes. The polluted Philosopher’s Stone glistened in the tubes, infinitesimal drops dangling from the hollow points of the needles. One fell, agonizingly slow, landing on his face, burning his skin.

“No!” He scrabbled, useless, unable to free his hands or feet, unable to move to escape.

“Join me, Eddie.” Josephine’s smile widened, her nipples winking at him through the transparent fabric of her top. 

Edward could just make out the curve of an ouroboros tattoo peeping out from her cleavage. “Like hell I will!” Where was Al? That stupid prince? Greed, even? “Keep the fuck away from me!” His reflexive, aborted kick made Josephine laugh. 

“You don’t get any say in this, Ed.” The needles dripped their poison onto his face. Edward couldn’t remember if he had any open wounds. He would not be turned into a homunculus. He arched up against the bindings, turning his head away from Josephine’s sneer. 

The sweet, familiar smell made his nostrils flare. Light seemed to pool around him, brightening the room, making Josephine retreat with a hiss. Edward turned his head, trying to find her, following the trace of her scent. Why she might be here wasn’t something he’d think about.

“Winry?” He blinked when the light intensified. _She wasn’t captured, too, was she?_ He’d have to get out of this place and take her with him. If Tucker hurt her – 

_“Edward.”_

Her scent surrounded him, familiar and clean. Edward strained against the bindings. That insane alchemist better not try anything. Not with Winry. It almost seemed she was standing right beside him, her scent was so strong. He inhaled, so deep, like he could track her from her scent alone. God, this wasn’t a place Winry should be in. She didn’t deserve this!

Gritting his teeth, Edward tested the bindings again. Was one of them coming loose? He concentrated on his right arm. It wouldn’t hurt if he pried it free. Once he broke out of these confines, he’d get Winry and – 

_I’m right here and everything’s going to be okay._

“I know, I know! Just as soon as we get outta here,” Edward swallowed, wondering why his mouth felt so dry. The drugs Tucker gave him? Or that poison Josie’d dripped on his skin? “Al and I’ll take you home.” He jerked at his right arm, grinning in triumph. He’d get out of this trap and take Winry with him. Screw Tucker. They weren’t gonna be experimented on. 

“Big Brother?”

No, no nononono! Edward froze, trying to find the sound of that muffled voice. How…? “Nina?” His eyes ached from unshed tears. “Nina, are you here, too?”

Dog’s mouths weren’t made to speak. They didn’t have a larynx or a tongue that could form words. It made it hard to understand those next words. “Big Brother, it hurts.”

“D-don’t worry, Nina.” Grinding his teeth, Edward strained against the bindings. Hell, had Tucker used steel bands? “I’ll get you out of this.” He ignored a faint voice trying to tell him Nina was _dead_ , that Scar had destroyed her, knowing there was no way to separate her from her dog any more. “We’re getting out of this!”

_Everything’s okay, Ed._

“Winry?” He groaned. “Where are you? Can you,” he dry swallowed again, wishing desperately for water, “do you see Nina? It’s so dark in here.” 

Something glowed in front of him, so bright Edward tried to shade his eyes, forced to turn away from that brilliance. His throat bobbed as Winry’s scent surrounded him again. “I fucked up, Winry.” Something wet touched the corner of his mouth. Edward shivered, remembering the poison from Josie’s fingernails. She wasn’t that good of a mimic; she couldn’t smell like Winry, could she? He pried one eye open then the other. It felt like someone had rubbed sandpaper across the insides of his eyelids, making it hard for him to focus. His eyes were so dry, they ached. 

She smiled, sweet, tender, and Edward strained after that smile. How long had it been since he’d seen it? How could she even smile like that, trapped down here in Tucker’s secret lab? “Winry?” His voice sounded weak and crackly. 

“Sh-h.” Winry pressed something damp against his mouth. 

Pulling back, Edward tried to shove whatever it was away from his face. His automail rattled against the restraint. “Nng!”

“It’s okay, Ed.”

How could she say that? “No!” He strained at the bindings again. “Winry…you’re free? How’d you get free?” Maybe that didn’t matter right now. “We’ve got – hnng!” The restraints kept him from sitting up, from moving much at all. “We’ve gotta get outta here!”

“No, Ed.” Winry’s face crumpled. “No. You’re…we’re not going anywhere.”

“Damn it, Tucker’ll be back soon.” What was wrong with her? Didn’t she understand? “Turn me loose, Winry!”

“I can’t, Ed.” She shook her head, slow, her brows furrowed. “You’re sick. Don’t you remember? You’re in the hospital.”

Hospital? Had Tucker brainwashed her or something? “Winry, look,” Edward tried for patience, “we can’t stay here. He’ll be back soon and I don’t know what he’ll do to me. To you! I can’t keep you safe if I’m like this!” He jerked at the bindings on his wrists. “Winry, please!”

“You’re sick, Ed.” Winry covered her eyes with her hand. “You were in a fight. Don’t you remember? You’ve been in the hospital for days, Ed.” When she looked at him, her eyes were bright, too bright, and Edward’s heart clenched. 

_Don’t cry, please don’t cry!_ He groaned, thumping his head back into the pillow. Images flashed through his memory, distorted voices and arguments and that horrible smell of disinfectant and death and through it all, Winry, so damned concerned and caring and god, why was he putting her through this again? Why? “Oh, fuck.” His larynx bobbed as Edward tried to rein in his emotions, everything hitting him again, the heat of Al’s blood as it ran over his hands; Winry slapping him; the funeral, oh, god, the _funeral_. Josie, and her gorgeous eyes, and wicked smile, and the way she made his body sing. _God._ And Winry, so fucking patient, so willing to take care of him while he put her through hell. “It…it was a nightmare?” His voice cracked on the last word.

“Mm.” Winry picked a cloth out of a wash bowl, wringing it out. “Hallucination.” She wiped Edward’s forehead, cheeks and neck, the water cooling his skin. “From the opium.”

 _Shit. Shit. She knew?_ Edward had to force himself to look at her, to meet her eyes. He couldn’t hold the gaze, glancing away immediately. His fingers twitched and he wished he had that blanket back, the one he’d made the hole in. Unraveling the threads gave him something to do. “‘M sorry, Winry.” 

“You’re damn right you are!” Edward winced, expecting a wrench to pound him into the thin mattress hospital. “If you were having problems, Ed, why didn’t you talk to someone? Izumi or Gracia? Even Mr. Mustang?” 

“Because it’s not the kind of thing you talk about!” The words roared up out of his throat. “Who wants to hear the fucking Fullmetal Alchemist is losing it, huh?” Metal squealed at the tight fist he made with his right hand. “Nobody. No one.” 

“You have friends who care about you, Ed! Why do you think I came as soon as Mr. Mustang called me? Why are Izumi and Sig here? And Gracia?” Winry slapped the bed rail. “Riza and Mr. Mustang come every day. Every day, Ed, to check up on you. Would they do that, would we do that, if we didn’t care?” Her eyes glittered, a warning she was gearing up to yell. “You idiot! Do you think you’re the only one who misses Al? Do you think,” her voice cracked, though Winry plowed on, “that no one else is hurting, too?”

Edward wanted to scream back at her. That he’d needed her, and Granny, and she’d slapped him. That he’d been alone until he found Josephine, who didn’t care who he was, or who his brother was and how he’d died, or that his best friend had sent him away when he’d needed her. Turning his head, Edward muttered, “Whatever.” 

“Ed. It’s not just your pain.” The words cracked and wavered before steadying. “I’m sorry…the things I said to you, I’m sorry, Ed. I know it’s late for me to say that. But I am.” He started when she lay her hand in the center of his chest. “I want us to be friends again, Ed. I…I need you. I missed you.”

He closed his eyes. _Don’t cry._ He hadn’t been able to keep his promise to Winry before but he wouldn’t let her cry over him now. He wasn’t worth it. She didn’t need to waste her tears on him. She…Edward gasped at the feeling of a damp towel on his hot face.

Winry blotted his eyes, wiping some of the heat away from them. “Shh,” she whispered. “It’s going to be okay.” 

It wouldn’t be okay. Al was dead, dead and buried, and he kept having these dreams. “Y-you’d still be friends with me?” Hope burned deep inside him. Edward tried to keep it from bubbling up. “After?”

“Yes, Ed.” Winry moved the towel away from his face, draping it over his neck to help cool his skin. “I think the only way we’re going to get past this is to heal together.” The back of her fingers stroked across his cheek. “I want you to get better. I’ll help you, whatever way I can.” She leaned closer. “But you have to help me, too, Ed. You have to want to get better, too. Can you do that?” 

It hurt so much to swallow. “I.” Edward closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Winry’s face was the only thing he could see. “I’ll try,” he grated out. “I’ll try,” and her smile was so brilliant, it made him ache. He wanted to howl she shouldn’t trust him so, she shouldn’t believe him. But Winry made him want to make her happy again. 

_You need her,_ a voice whispered, _you always have._

Edward didn’t want to think about why that voice sounded so much like Al’s. 

* * *


	14. One Year, Six and Half Months, Part 1

“Dublith,” Izumi told Winry, “is warm. You’ll want to pack to stay cool.” 

Winry knew about warm, having lived in Rush Valley. She’d never gotten used to how dry it was, and how she had to slather her skin with creams to keep it soft. She’d gotten tan in Rush Valley, after she’d burnt a few times. It had been strange to fit into that community; to learn to rest inside during the hottest parts of the day, to sip water and juices and teas, all day long, to keep hydrated. While people came to Rush Valley to get custom automail, the port installations and initial rehabilitation were often done elsewhere. Dealing with recovery and rehab in the Rush Valley climate seemed to be too severe for most people to handle. She hoped Ed would be up to it, if Dublith was the same way. Though she still remembered how Al and he had come home from their first trip there as kids, how brown they’d been, the differences played through her mind. The brothers hadn’t been weak then, they’d been strong. 

“Ed’s tough,” she reminded herself, but after the last hallucination she’d sat through with him, Winry couldn’t help but wonder how strong he was, after being patched together using drugs and alcohol as the glue. How much was he relying on her, she wondered, and stared blankly at the wall in front of her. 

She’d packed his clothes, too, after washing them at Gracia’s house. They’d spent a few hours going through them carefully to make sure Ed hadn’t squirreled any drugs away in his pockets before throwing them into the laundry. Winry had tossed out some of the more worn clothing, and Mr. Mustang had transferred some money from Ed’s account for her to buy him some new clothes to replace threadbare underwear and holey socks. Everything either new or clean, Winry packed the most comfortable clothing, thinking Ed’s bag usually didn’t look this stuffed. 

Unsure why she did it, she kept out his journal and the lone photograph she’d found at the apartment. Those two things would go into her own suitcase, hidden away underneath an automail magazine, though Winry couldn’t imagine Ed actually going through her things. He’d always avoided that kind of personal contact. Winry couldn’t even remember him offering to carry her bag, though Al had, and sometimes took it even when she protested she had it. 

Winry swallowed, reaching for the journal and opening it. The photograph served as a bookmark, though she really had no idea what she was reading. The journal read like a travelogue, describing the journey Al and he had taken from the time they were twelve until Ed had gotten Al’s body back. Some of Ed’s descriptions of the towns they visited made her laugh out loud, and she wondered if he knew how funny he could be when he was complaining all the time. Had he read his journal out loud to Al when they were traveling together? Had they laughed at this comment about outfoxing some low-level military man who controlled a mining town? 

Closing the journal, Winry tucked it into her suitcase and closed the lid, snapping the locks down. It was time to go to the hospital, and from there, to the train. 

“Ed’s tough,” she reminded herself, hefting both their pieces of luggage. Winry tried not to think on how he’d feel, when she left him to go on to Dublith alone. He’d be okay. Izumi and Sig would be with him. Closing her eyes for a second, she took a deep breath. 

“Winry!” Gracia called from downstairs. “The cab’s here to take us to the hospital!” 

And it was time to go. 

* * *

Ed snarled at Dr. Englehardt. “I’m walking out of this fucking place.” 

The pale man stared at him, obviously unafraid of any threat. “Lieutenant Colonel,” he said, “yesterday you were in restraints. I could put you back in them. However, I’d rather you get out of my hospital before you frighten all the staff more than they already are.” He added, almost under his breath, but Ed’s ears were sharp, “I don’t understand how you became known as ‘the People’s Alchemist’, anyway.” 

“Besides, Ed,” Izumi said, sounding inordinately cheerful, “you can’t walk on one leg.” 

He couldn’t argue that, even if he wanted to. Even when he just had one leg as a kid, when his stump was healing, either Al or Winry had helped him around. And when he was ready, he’d been given a prosthesis to use, until his automail had been completed. The realization that he was effectively foxed out of walking out of the hospital made Ed snort. At least he was getting out of here. “Where’s Winry?”

Hating the wicked glint in his master’s eyes, Ed endured the smile she sent his way. “She’s coming. She said she’d meet us here.” 

“When?” The question escaped him before he realized it, and Ed wished he could fold his arms and look away from Izumi’s knowing gaze. 

She barked a laugh, the cracking sound as she slapped his thigh making Dr. Dick startle. Ed didn’t bother hiding his smirk at the man, though Izumi didn’t notice, or pretended she didn’t notice as she said, “Soon enough. You remember we’re going to Dublith?”

Making a face, Ed mumbled, “Yeah.” With a stop off in Rush Valley, so Winry could give him a loaner leg to use while she made him a new one. 

“So get in your chair, Ed,” Izumi pointed at it. “And let Nurse Ferrell wheel you out of here.” 

At least someone had gotten him real clothes, instead of the crappy hospital stuff. The soft cotton of his shirt felt good against his skin. The trousers were the kind he’d favored when he was younger, heavy duck canvas, dyed black. The left leg was folded and pinned as well, and a pair of sturdy boots, the left one with a sock stuck in it, were next to the door, waiting for him to tie the right one on. Sig held a long jacket over one arm and Ed wondered where it had come from, as it wasn’t military regulation. The weave of it made him think it was wool, and he hoped it was lined so it didn’t make him itch. 

“Are you ready, Lieutenant Colonel?” The nurse moved the wheelchair close to the bed, and Izumi helped transfer him to it. 

Ed wanted to protest, but kept himself to a low growl that made his master glare back. Bending over to grab the shoes made him dizzy, though he wasn’t about to show that weakness. Dr. Dick would probably throw him back in the bed and restraints again, and he was so fucking over that. Muttering to himself, Ed yanked the right boot on his foot, wriggling his toes inside once it was on. Someone knew his size, but he decided not to think too hard about that. Stomping his foot on the rest, he realized he leaned toward the door and forced himself to sit upright. “Let’s get me the hell out of here.” 

Being the center of attention was something Ed sometimes craved, but this time, it made his skin crawl. Mustang and Hawkeye waited for him in the hall, and fell into step alongside the chair and Dr. Dick, a flanking maneuver if Ed had ever seen one. Izumi and Sig were behind them, the prickling on the back of his neck making him want to twist around and shout at them all that he was fucking _fine_ , he didn’t need this kind of escort off the hospital property. Swallowing down the words he wanted to shout, Ed hunched his shoulders, scowling at anyone who looked his way. 

A breath of fresh air drifted past him, floating down the hallway from the hospital entrance he spotted ahead. After he’d taken a deep breath of it, Ed realized his sight was spangled. Blinking rapidly to clear his eyes from the stupid tears, he shunted aside the question why, telling himself quickly the reason had to be from the quality of air. Outside didn’t smell like bleach and death. That breeze carried a hint of spring in it, a taste of freedom. Finding himself leaning forward again, Ed forced himself back into the chair with a grunt. 

“That’s not getting you out of here any faster,” Mustang said. 

“Fuck you,” Ed said, almost automatically, though his shoulders fell and his fingers clenched when Nurse Ferrell wheeled him to a desk. He heard the bastard sigh through his nose, and ignored it. 

“You have to sign the release papers.” Dr. Dick leaned on the desk, smiling at the nurse behind it. She smile back, her cheeks rouging up, and Ed made a face at her taste in men. “Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric is leaving us,” he said. “His file?” 

The nurse – her nametag read ‘Baumholser’ – flipped through the files in the drawer of her desk, pulling out one that Ed thought seemed really thick. She smiled again, showing off a dimple in her left cheek as she passed the folder to Dr. Dick. He opened it, making a show of reviewing the papers inside. 

Ed fidgeted. He wanted to taste that air again. Deep inside his bones, something woke at the scent of fresh air, something that wanted to get the hell out of the hospital. A whiff of women’s perfume caught his attention and he half-turned in the chair, a peculiar hunger swarming over him, from deep down in his bones all the way up through his skin. Sweat popped out on his skin as he swallowed down her name before uttering it – Josie hadn’t come to the hospital to see him. No one had even said her name. He swallowed again against his suddenly dry mouth, clenching his flesh hand to keep it from trembling, and realized someone had said his name. “What?” he snapped. 

“You need to sign this,” Dr. Dick was saying, pointing at a page he’d set on the desk in front of Ed, a pen laying crosswise on the paper. He straightened, and Ed could hear him talking over the top of his head, something about, “…absolving the hospital,” and “really should be going into a facility,” while he scrawled his name. 

“Is that it?” He asked Nurse Baumholser rather than Dr. Dick. 

She looked surprised, like no one usually asked her questions, and rummaged through the file for another pair of papers, pointing to the areas where Ed needed to sign. He finished those off, barely reading the notes, knowing what they said – take it easy, don’t do anything too strenuous, take painkillers for the pain – that one nearly made him laugh, but Ed bit it back before it left his mouth. Where the hell was Josie, anyway? Had anyone even told her he was getting out of the hospital? Did she know the Curtises were dragging him off to Dublith? The sweat on his skin turned cold, making him shiver. 

“And I need you to sign,” Dr. Dick stopped, realizing his signature had already been affixed to the pages. “Hmm. Well, Lieutenant Colonel, it seems you’re free to go.”

“About time,” Ed growled, hunching his shoulders. He refused to look up at the man, to let Dr. Dick see how much he was sweating. The clothes kept it from showing on his body, but a drop rolled down his cheek from his temple. Ed couldn’t even reach up to brush it away – his fucking cast would bash him in the head. 

“Are you all right, Edward?” 

Damn it, why the hell did Mustang have to ask? And why the hell did he have to sound so damned concerned? “I’m fine! I wanna get out of this fucking hospital!” Ed snapped, jerking his head up to glare at his commanding officer. “That’s it!” 

“You’re free to go,” Dr. Dick said, the first time he’d said something to Ed that came close to making any kind of sense. 

“Finally!” What he wouldn’t give to storm down the corridor to those doors, and the tantalizing light outside of them. Grabbing for the wheels of the chair – fuck protocol – he gave them a shove, making someone jump back. Without looking to see who he’d nearly run down, Ed spun the wheelchair, spinning it, then sending it forward. The dull pain in his fingers turned sharp, spinning up his arm, and he bit his lip and kept pushing. The hell he was going to be in this place any longer. 

“Edward!” someone shouted behind him, and he didn’t care, tossing his damp hair out of his eyes. Almost there, he sang in his head, almost there, almost outside the door, and then there were people in the door, maybe they’d hold it open for him, let him escape. 

“Ed?” 

No, no, nononono…not _her_ voice. Ed bit his lip harder to keep the emotions roiling in his chest from escaping up his throat. Ducking his head so she couldn’t see his face, he waited for the scolding Winry was sure to give him. 

Instead, she ruffled his hair. “C’mon. The car’s waiting outside.” Her legs moved around him, he watched them out of the corner of his eye. “Move your hands, Ed.” Winry gave the chair a light push and he jerked his hands back onto the armrests, letting her take control, and tried to ignore the relief percolating through his body. 

* * *

The train station bustled with life, people moving from here to there, all through the assistance of the Amestrian train lines. Roy withstood the buffeting by spreading his legs and bracing himself. It gave him some amusement to see how many people stepped around or out of the way of the Curtises, not necessarily because Mr. Curtis cradled an injured man in his arms, but from his sheer bulk. People didn’t seem to notice Edward, held against the man’s chest, though it wasn’t from a lack of mortification on Edward’s part. If he recoiled any more from Mr. Curtis, it would be likely he’d wind up on the platform flooring. 

“Edward,” he said, raising his voice to carry over the noise within the station, pleased when the younger man turned a furious glare his way. Roy stepped closer to the monstrous arms of Mr. Curtis, offering Edward his most urbane smile. “I am going to give you an order. You will follow it.”

“What?” Edward sounded as sulky as the child he appeared to be, in such a situation. 

“You will listen to what the Curtises and Miss Rockbell tell you. They have your best interests at heart.” 

His mouth curled, and Roy wouldn’t have been surprised if Edward didn’t spit at him. Instead, he subsided, the sulk even more prominent now. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. 

“Don’t worry, Brigadier General,” Mrs. Curtis said, with a diabolic smile, “we’ll take good care of Ed.” She patted him on top of his head with more force than necessary, making Edward’s eyes blaze at the manhandling. 

Miss Rockbell returned with the tickets, Riza one step behind her. “Got ‘em,” she said, waving the slips of paper. Roy couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes, and how pale and worn she seemed. A part of him wanted to pull her aside, to remind her that whatever path Edward had walked down since Alphonse’s death, it had been Edward’s choice, and not her fault; that she needed to take time to keep herself healthy and sane. And then he felt a faint warmth, and glanced up to meet Riza’s gaze, and knew, if the circumstances were different, he would be in the same straits as the young woman. 

“Can we get on the train?” Edward groused, wriggling in Mr. Curtis’s grip. 

“You should say your goodbyes first, Ed,” Mrs. Curtis said with a warning in her narrowed eyes. “And your thank yous.” 

He sighed, again the put-upon child. “Thanks. And bye. Can we go now?”

“Ed!” Miss Rockbell slapped his foot, making the boot bob and Edward snarl at her. She ignored it with the nonchalance of someone accustomed to far worse threats. “Be polite.” 

Gracia smiled warmly at Edward before he could retort, standing on her toes to kiss his anger-reddened cheek. He blinked, the rage leaving him in that second, and something close to embarrassment taking its place. “Next time I see you,” she said, and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. Edward’s eyes went wide at whatever she said, and he gaped when Gracia took a step backward, her hands clasped in front of herself, her expression content. 

“See? That’s better,” Winry told him, and Edward jerked his face in her direction at the praise. “Say goodbye to Mr. Mustang and Riza.” 

From the satisfied air Mrs. Curtis gave off, she approved of Gracia and Miss Rockbell taking control of Edward. “Well, Ed?” 

He took a deep breath and said, albeit with some reluctance, “Thanks for everything, bastard. You, too, Captain Hawkeye.” 

“You’re welcome, Edward,” Riza said. “I’m glad I could offer you some assistance when you needed it.” 

“I’ve already said what I needed to say to you, Edward,” Roy said, while the young man processed Riza’s words. “I do expect you to be able to return to your duties shortly. In the mean time, you will report to me once weekly, during normal business hours, using proper channels. Do you understand?” His voice cracked like a whip on those last words. 

The reactions were all he’d expected, a glower, a curled mouth, a stiffened body. “Yeah. Yes, _sir_ ,” Edward added, perhaps from some sort of unseen prompt from Mr. Curtis. “I’ll do that, _sir_.”

“Good. Then I wish you a safe trip, and convalescence.” Allowing himself a smirk, Roy took a step back from Mr. Curtis. “Do try to not destroy anything while you’re in the South.” The flat, blank stare Edward returned, rather than a rejoinder, sent a pang through Roy, though he refused to let the younger man know. The smirk remained in place until long after the party had boarded the train, until there was no chance Edward could see his face. 

“Is it me, or is it going to be harder on him yet?” Gracia asked, cupping her elbows in her hands and shivering. 

Roy wished he could offer some sort of comfort, but he believed the same thing. 

* * *


	15. One Year, Six and a Half Months, Part 2

Their arrival in Rush Valley went pretty much unnoticed. After all, people came from all over the country to Rush Valley, to either purchase or repair automail, become an automail mechanic or engineer, learn automail surgery, visit their extended family of hard-working, hard-playing mechanics, or just scout the mecca of automail. 

As the Curtises, Ed and she debarked the train car, Winry took a deep breath, inhaling the air that carried with it the taste of the red dust coating everything, the combined scents of metal being smelted or shaped and the oils used to keep automail in tip-top shape and the funk of men and women crammed in close together, sweating in all the pursuits of the day. It was a wonder Rush Valley didn’t stink, wasn’t more littered, but there was a pride in the inhabitants of the valley, and despite the signs displaying new and improved styles of automail, of mechanics hawking their works, of people always on the move with flyers and handouts and walking signs, there was very little actual trash. Her heart swelled for an instant at the sight of her home. 

“I hate this place.” 

Ed’s disgusted voice barely squelched her pride in her adopted community, though he did take some of the joy out of her return. “Well, you won’t be here very long,” Winry told him. “Just long enough for me to get your measurements, then you can go on further south.” Dublith was another few hours away on the train line. Winry shuddered mentally at the idea of traveling there via horse or wagon, though she knew it could be done, and had been done, even recently by some diehards who’d rather avoid the railways entirely. “Come on, my shop’s this way.” 

She led the way through the crowded, narrow streets. No cars came through Rush Valley. Except for the streets around the taverns, the roads weren’t built for anything larger than a small horse cart to go through. Bars tended to be closer to the train station anyway, easier for the alcohol and foodstuffs to be transported over short distances. Mechanics who recognized her called out greetings, and Winry glanced over her shoulder after each hello to check on Ed. Since he was with her, it seemed to be a charm to keep the ‘hyenas’ at bay. 

Making a mental note to stop and grab food from the grocery, Winry knew the food in her ice box and her cabinets needed to be replaced. She didn’t know when she’d be able to make time to do it; that was the problem. She knew just how far behind she was in her orders, and the leg Ed needed would suck up more of her time. Mentally lost in juggling orders with this new commitment to finish Ed’s automail kept Winry busy until she reached the stoop of her shop, unlocking the door and ushering the Curtises and Ed inside. Sig had to duck a little to get through the door. 

“This is a noisy place,” Izumi said with a smile that let Winry know she didn’t mind it, it was simply a comment. 

“You ought to hear it during a festival.” Winry spread her hands. “Come on in. Ed, I’ll need you in there.” She nodded at an open door. 

“I’m not a piece of luggage,” Ed snarled as Sig carried him into the examination room where Winry worked with her customers. Most of her hand tools were there, everything needed for taking measurements to adjusting the tightness of an anchor bolt, and Winry had made it as comfortable as it could be, under the circumstances. 

Winry gave Sig an understanding smile before heading on through the shop to drop off her luggage. Paninya had been through recently, if the green plants in the window were any indication, a few of the midwinter cactuses still blooming. 

When she returned, Ed stood on one leg next to the exam table, reminding Winry of a cat that’d been dunked in water. He was ruffled up from being carried; something that had to disturb him since he’d always made a point of being able to walk, no matter what. His eyes were still glassy from all the sleeping he’d done on the train car. His rest had relieved Winry despite the weight of his head against her shoulder for most of the trip. She ignored the flutter in her stomach at one particular memory, when Ed had shifted his weight, curling even more closely against her during the night, his fingers tightening around her hip and his breath dipping down the collar of her dress to caress her upper breast. Then he’d shifted and hit her with his cast, leaving behind a bruise the size of one of Granny’s antique gold one hundred cenz pieces. “Okay,” she said, thinking her voice sounded chirpy as a spring songbird, “I’m going to take your measurements, Ed, so you know what that means.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunted, and turned so his butt rested against the tabletop, beginning to work the button of his pants. He hesitated, shooting the Curtises a look. “Are you gonna stand here and watch me strip?” 

Izumi snorted. “It isn’t like I haven’t seen it before, Ed.” 

“I usually do these with just my customer,” Winry said, giving the couple a nod to let them know it was okay for them to leave the room. She was stronger than she looked, and could help Ed get onto the bed if he needed it. “While you’re getting undressed, Ed, I’ll show them the kitchen, okay?” Without waiting for his answer, Winry left the exam room, closing the door behind her. “Come on, it’s down this hall.”

Wishing she had more food than the not-quite-too-hard-to-eat-yet bread, and the only slightly moldy cheese in the ice box, Winry pointed out the coffee and tea to the Curtises. “This will take a little while,” she said, “so make yourselves at home.” 

“We could go get you some food, if you want,” Izumi offered. 

Her first thought was to decline but, “That might not be such a bad idea,” Winry found herself saying. “Especially since the next train won’t be through until late. I’ve got room here.” She gestured toward the hallway. “You should just spend the night.” 

Izumi and Sig glanced at each other. “If it won’t be too much of an imposition,” Sig said. 

“No, of course not.” Winry smiled. “I don’t know about you, but I get tired of riding the train after a while. I just want to walk and not have to rely on someone else moving me along.” 

“Well, if that’s the way you feel, we’ll be happy to stay. Where do you suggest we go shopping?” Izumi cocked her head. “You’re okay with it, too, right, honey?”

Sig nodded once. “It might be good for Ed to stay still for a little while.” 

“I’m not sure how still he’ll stay once he gets a loaner leg,” Winry said, mentally rolling her eyes at the idea. Drawing a map to the marketplace, she handed the Curtises some cenz and her key. 

When she tried to explain about how they needed to haggle with Chien, the Xingese man who had the best produce, Sig held up his hand. “We know how to do this, Winry. You just take care of Ed.” 

“I can do that.” Nodding at Sig, Winry made her way back to the exam room, taking a second outside the door to catch her breath. Even that little walk seemed to make her feel like she’d run a kilometer. _Nerves,_ , she scolded herself. Her heart rate increased as she knocked on the door to let Ed know she was coming in. 

“Yeah,” Ed said, and she opened the door. He had taken off his clothes except for his underwear, a pair of boxers Winry had bought for him. Ed hadn’t wasted his time in her exam room, finding an exam robe he’d slipped on, since he wasn’t wearing his usual two layers of clothing: a pair of close-fitting underwear and the comfortable, light blue shorts he’d worn when she’d needed to take his measurements or work on his automail in the past. Ed watched as she collected her measuring tapes, a pencil and pad from drawers. His gaze made her skin prickle as she washed her hands in the sink, drying them on a fresh towel from the shelf. Winry rubbed her hands together to warm them before heading to the exam table and her customer – Ed – looking at him. How long had it been since they’d actually looked each other in the eye, she wondered, seeing a wary mistrust in his? 

“Once I get your measurements done,” she said, still in that chirpy voice, “I want to check over your arm and make sure it’s in good shape. After that, I’ll install a loaner leg for you, and you’ll be ready.” Gesturing at the table, Winry said, “Lie down, so I can flex your leg.” 

“I need to pee,” Ed said bluntly. “No one asked me,” he added as Winry’s eyebrows shot up – he wasn’t usually quite so vocal about his bodily needs. “And I drank that orange stuff on the train.” This sounded a little more like Ed, not quite babbling in embarrassment, but at least it was there. “So before you start pushing and shoving on my body, I need to pee.” 

“Okay, yeah.” Winry rubbed her forehead sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about it.” She offered him her arm and Ed hesitated long enough she felt like there was something wrong before he accepted it, using it to keep his balance as he slid off the table. Winry let him get his balance while Ed flung his arm around her shoulder, bopping her with the cast. 

“Sorry,” Ed muttered as she slid her arm around his waist. When they were kids, they’d moved around like this pretty easily, but that had been years ago; and now, it took a bit before remembered rhythms fell into place. 

Winry helped him down the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, the room was rigged up with handholds and bars for her customers’ use, and Ed would be all right. Waiting in the hall for him, her arms folded, thoughts churned through her head. Putting off the news she wasn’t going directly to Dublith had been a mistake, Winry knew it, and even now, she wished she could open her mouth and just tell Ed, but shouting something like that through a bathroom door had to be the worst idea of all. This was something she needed to do face to face. 

Except Winry could see he was hurting. It was easy to read pain in someone, especially someone like Ed, who didn’t hide it nearly as well as he thought he did. He was too expressive; he wore his heart on his sleeve, and even though this was physical rather than emotional pain, everything Ed did all but shouted out his agony. The sudden sweats and his swinging moods indicated he was still suffering from withdrawal in some way, even if Dr. Englehardt had agreed to allow him to leave the hospital. Winry hadn’t done any research into how long it would take for Ed to get over it; she’d been too busy taking care of him to even consider it, but now, she wished she’d asked someone for more information. The doctor had thought it best if Ed had transferred to a facility to help him conquer his addiction, but no one had agreed to that idea, least of all Ed. 

“I hope you didn’t protest just so you could come out of the hospital and try to kill yourself, Ed,” Winry murmured. 

The bathroom door opened and Ed reached for her shoulder. His mood seemed to have changed from prickly to quiet now, and Winry offered him support to get him back to the exam room. After she finished the measurements, she told herself, she’d tell him about her plans. About needing to take care of her other customers, too. And Ed would understand; at least, she hoped he would. 

Ed hopped along with her, his expression distant. Dark circles rode the skin under his eyes, along with a couple of lingering marks on his face from the last fight that hadn’t quite faded yet. If she looked, Winry knew she’d find marks on his inner arm from the medications that had dripped into his body during his time in the hospital. He squirmed free from her to get onto the table by himself and Winry let him, pleased he was strong enough to do so. 

“All right,” he grumbled, “let’s get this over with.” 

“You’re so impatient.” Winry gave him a sidelong glance. “You know this is going to take time. And remember, while I’ve got you here, I want to look at your arm.”

Eyes narrowing, Ed’s upper lip twitched. “But you did at the hospital already.”

“And now I’ve got all my equipment,” Winry said, gesturing toward the tools lining the tables. “You should be thankful I’m taking all this time, Ed, considering the orders I still have to do for my other customers.” She laid her hand on his shoulder, adding a little pressure. “Lie down. Let me do my work.” Pulling the arm rest out from under the table and locking it in place, she patted it for emphasis. 

Ed exhaled through his teeth but lay down, wriggling a bit to get comfortable. Winry pulled a rolling tool table close enough to use for her work. Choosing a screwdriver, she set it in the crosspieces of a screw, breaking it free from Ed’s shoulder plate. “So, you haven’t been this far south in a while.” He gave her a look of disbelief, making Winry grin sheepishly. “Okay, that was a pretty stupid thing to say, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” His face went lax as he stared up at the ceiling again. After a few minutes of silence, Ed spoke up. “It’s hotter than I remember.” 

“If you start feeling uncomfortable, let me know.” Winry glanced over the opened automail to Ed, catching sight of a faint sheen of sweat on his upper chest and forehead. Knowing how unlikely it would be for Ed to say anything, she set aside her tools and ran cool water over a cloth, wringing it out and folding it to put in on his forehead. 

He shivered slightly, then lay still again. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Do you want anything to drink?” When Ed shook his head ‘no’, Winry picked up her tools again, investigating the inner workings of the forearm and wrist. She hadn’t completed her maintenance in the winter when she’d seen Ed, and that had helped to land him in the hospital Now, she was going to make sure he was in full working order before sending him on to Dublith. 

For his part, Ed let her tinker on his arm without comment. Only the barest flinches indicated he felt anything, and it seemed he’d gone off into his own world while she worked. That was fine with Winry, though when she noticed him shivering again, she went to get a blanket. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ed?” she asked, draping the fabric over him, surprised when he clutched at it with his flesh fingers. 

“Y-yeah,” he muttered through chattering teeth. “Just wanna get my leg and dressed!” 

“I can wait on your measurements,” Winry said, earning a glare from Ed at the suggestion. “Try moving your fingers.” 

Brow still furrowed, Ed curled each one separately before straightening them and making a fist. The fluid movement reassured Winry, who ran him through a couple more tests of the arm and its movement before turning her attention on his leg. Before she took measurements, Winry worked on relaxing Ed’s muscles, knowing if they were tight, it would throw off her numbers. She almost missed the flicker of his gaze on her breasts as his knee rested between them, and she put pressure on the leg to stretch and warm the muscles. 

“Ed.” 

“What?” He jerked his eyes up, the faintest hint of a flush coloring his cheeks. 

Winry smiled in response. “Nothing.” If Ed wanted to look, well, maybe he was better than she thought he was. She manipulated his leg and hip joint to make sure his body was warmed up. Ed’s heart rate increased slightly, the blood flowing faster through his leg. His perspiration dampened her hands, making his skin slick, but Winry was used to working with customers who sweated while she worked with them. 

Measuring was an exacting, onerous task. Winry always took her time at it. If she made a mistake, the resulting limb she created would have to be redone, and her customer would be forced to wait that much longer for a correct fit. The idea of making anyone wait for freedom – the type of freedom a good piece of automail could provide – was inconceivable to her. Ed, of course, had remained one of her best customers up until Al had died. 

Her hands fumbled on the tape as she thought about Ed, and Al, and what had happened since his death. Winry inhaled deeply and caught hold of the tape, wrapping it snugly around Ed’s thigh. She glanced up, but his gaze was off to the side, not watching her. The tension in his jaw told her he wasn’t as relaxed as he might appear to be. “Hey,” Winry said. “Do you need a break?”

Ed blinked a couple of times, his attention focusing on her. “No. I want…I want this over with, Winry.” 

“I know. There’re not too many more measurements to take, and then I can fit you with a loaner leg.” Winry wrapped the tape around Ed’s ankle, writing notations down, then measured the length, arch, and width of his foot and largest toe. “All right.” Winry leaned back, rolling the tape up in preparation to putting it away. “You can get dressed now.”

“How long will it take for you to get it finished?” 

“I’ve got a few other pieces I need to make.” Winry turned back to Ed, rubbing her hands on the thighs of her coveralls, hoping he wouldn’t make it harder than it already was. “I’m behind right now, but I think I can get your leg done within the next ten days.” 

“But I can get a loaner now?” Ed glanced at her as he sat up, swinging his leg over the edge of the table.

“Mm. Let me get it.” Winry picked up her notepad, carrying it with her into her shop where she kept the loaner legs. She did have one that was a close fit for the length of Ed’s leg, though he’d still limp. Even after she completed the adjustments to this loaner, it would still be almost three centimeters off the length of Ed’s flesh leg. Carrying it back to the exam room, she found Ed still on the bed, his flesh leg swinging slightly. His skin looked pale, and Winry thought he probably needed to lie down without her poking and prodding at him. “Here.” She fitted the loaner into the port. “Remember, this won’t move the same way as your automail. It’s not as responsive!” The scolding note sounded familiar, and she smiled faintly at the scowl Ed gave her. 

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” That didn’t mean Ed didn’t accept her help to hop off the table, or cling to her shoulder to keep his balance. He balanced on his flesh leg, then shifted his weight so it rested on both limbs. A smile slowly built on his face. “Wow. That’s…thanks, Winry.”

“Now, you just had surgery. Don’t go doing something stupid.” Winry wagged a finger at him. “You probably ought to go and rest until it’s time to eat.” 

Ed took a couple of tottering steps. “Ten days to my real leg?” His balance was better than Winry expected, considering how long he’d been off of two feet. 

“Yeah. I’ve got other customers, remember? I need to catch up their work before I do your leg.” She watched as Ed tested the restrictions in the loaner. “And tomorrow, you and the Curtises are going on to Dublith, so I can finish working.” 

That finally got Ed’s actual attention, and he turned so fast, he nearly fell. “What? I’m not staying here?”

Winry grabbed his arms to keep him steady. “No, Ed,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “You’re going with the Curtises. I won’t…I need the time to finish the work I need to do, then I’ll bring your new leg to Dublith.” 

“Why?” Ed’s stubborn streak showed itself in the jut of his jaw. 

Why? Winry rubbed his upper arms. “Because you need to go there, so I can work.” 

“I don’t want to go.” The glitter in his eyes let her know she should’ve told him this earlier – a lot earlier. “I want to stay here with you.” Ed’s hands swept up, grabbing hold of her elbows. “Winry.” 

“Look, Ed, it’s better if you go south with Izumi and Sig. They can help you while I’m working. You’d be bored here, and it’s hot, and you hate Rush Valley. You’ve said that how many times?” Winry tried to tease Ed gently, but he was shaking his head. 

“No, I want to stay with you,” he said. “Don’t send me away, Winry.” 

“I’m not, Ed.” Winry cupped his cheeks, thinking his skin felt hot. “I’m not going to be able to take care of you while I’m working, that’s all. Izumi and Sig can.” She rubbed his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs. “Okay? You understand that, right?” 

Reluctant, Ed ducked his head in a half-nod. “Okay,” he mumbled, his hands falling away from her arms. “Okay, Winry.” He shuffled in a circle, making his way out of the room. “I’m gonna go lie down,” Ed said. “Like you said.” 

“Hey, Ed?”

He stopped, glancing at her over his shoulder. 

“Your room is the one at the end of the hall, all right?” Winry waved her hand to indicate. 

“Okay,” Ed nodded.

Winry watched as Ed disappeared down the hall. Letting out a soft sigh, she went to get her plans, so she could start working on Miss Culbertson’s leg. 

X X X

The long, low growl of thunder caught Ed’s attention, and he rolled onto his side, staring at the curtained windows. A blue flash of light exploded under the fabric, brightening that little area of his room. Spring storms weren’t uncommon back in Rezembool, but Ed didn’t know what they were like in Rush Valley. He sat up, swinging his legs over the bed though not dropping them to the floor. If Izumi or Sig woke up, he’d have to endure someone talking to him, or mothering him, or asking him how he was, did he want to talk. 

Ed set his feet softly down on the rug next to the bed, his flesh toes appreciative of the barrier between them and the wooden floor. Goose pimples marched across his arms and shoulders, making Ed reach for the button-down shirt on the end of the bed. Shrugging it over the a-line shirt he wore to sleep in, he got up and tottered over to the window. He moved aside the curtain to watch the storm roll in. 

The line of clouds almost cut the sky in half, sweeping across the sky from out of the west. Lighting crackled along that knife blade edge, illuminating it from within. The clouds boiled in shades of grey and soot and coal, taking over the night sky like an approaching army. Ed shook his head, trying to clear it of the images he saw in the clouds, turning away from the window when it was too much to bear. 

The clouds reminded him too much of the Promised Day; of Truth’s hall and those creepy, oily arms that dragged him through the doors. He couldn’t look at the clouds any more, not without remembering what Al looked like, sitting in that hall, nothing but bones and skin stretched tight over them, and huge, staring eyes. Ed jerked at the shirt, pulling it even more closely around him. He needed something to blot out the memories the storm brought with it. 

Before, Josie would be able to give him something to take his mind off of his memories; her offers included sex or booze or drugs. Once in a while, she’d hold him close, letting him listen to the sound of the blood moving through her body. Ed walked away from the window, starting slightly at the sight of someone else in the corner of his eye - _Al?_ \- but it was his reflection in the mirror, nothing more. Throat aching, Ed pulled open the door to the room, peering into the hall. 

No one was there, and he hobbled along, remembering to mind the way he walked to keep the loaner leg from making too much noise. Winry might be working, but Izumi and Sig could have become light sleepers since he’d last stayed with them. Making his way down the hall, Ed found himself in the kitchen. The ice box beckoned, and he peered inside of it, not seeing anything of interest there. He licked his dry lips. Why couldn’t Winry have something to drink? Closing the door, Ed wandered around the building, hearing noises within Winry’s workshop. He stopped for a few seconds outside the entrance, listening to the familiar grinding sounds. Realizing his hand reached up to knock, Ed frowned, making it drop back down. Winry didn’t need him bothering her. She made that pretty clear, since she was going to stay here in Rush Valley, while he had to go on to Dublith. 

Of course Winry wouldn’t want him here. She’d told him before how she felt about him being around. Ed could still feel the slap stinging his cheek and her fury as she sent him away after Al’s…after Al. Sending him on to Dublith was just more proof of the same. Hunching his shoulders, Ed made his way past the doorway, exploring the rest of the shop. There were chairs in a waiting room, one that had a window looking out onto the street. When Ed peered outside, he could see the first raindrops hitting the street. He could almost taste the moist dust rising from the road. 

The telephone on the counter beckoned him, and Ed reached for it, nearly knocking it to the floor. Fumbling the receiver in his shaking hands, Ed managed to keep hold of it rather than letting it fall. His hands trembled as he dialed. 

The operator came on, a dark, unfamiliar voice, and Ed asked that he be connected to the number at his apartment. He heard the repeated clicks and buzzes as the call transferred from Rush Valley back to Central City. The connection made, Ed listened as the telephone rang, counting five, then ten, then fifteen, then twenty rings. The operator came back on the line. “Do you me to try again?” he asked.

Ed searched around, spotting a calendar on the wall. Realizing he didn’t know what the day was, he mumbled, “N-no,” and made sure to replace the receiver carefully rather than to slam it down in its cradle. 

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room. Ed remembered alchemy transformations, his brother’s eyes, and clenched his hands into fists. His servos whined as he punched the wall, thunder drowning out the sound of his strike. The shock reverberated through his arm, thrumming up through the port and into his bones. Ed hissed through his teeth, shaking his hand, the vibration still humming through the automail. What the fuck had he done to himself? He couldn’t remember any time he’d had this much trouble with it. Growling under his breath, Ed looked around the waiting area, not seeing anything that would help him. He stumped on into the next room, lightning brightening the walls for a split second, bathing everything in electric blue and white, showing him what he needed.

A slow, bitter smile curled Ed’s mouth as he drew near to the glass cabinet. Jiggling the handle let him know it was locked, and he knew Winry had to have the key. The jade and amber bottles mocked him through the glass, but Ed knew how to handle them. Raising his hands, he touched his palms together deliberately, the transmutation circle flaring in his mind like the ignition of the lightning outside. He touched the glass, watching as it thinned and opened into hole big enough for him to reach through. 

The first bottle was nothing but aspirin, and Ed put it back on the shelf with a sneer of disgust. The second bottle, amber, over half-full of liquid, was more in line with what he was looking for, and the one beyond it, the pills inside of it nearly filling it a third of the way. Ed took both of them, stumbling back into the waiting room with his prizes. Before he could open the bottles, a sound sliced through the low grumble of thunder. 

A train whistle. 

The unfamiliar feeling around his mouth made Ed realize he was smiling. He knew he didn’t have a lot of time, but it wasn’t like he needed to take much with him. His bag was still packed, and anything else he needed he could get either on the way or in Central City. 

Carrying the bottles with him, Ed made his way back to his room as quickly and as quietly as he could. He dragged on a pair of pants, having trouble with the loaner leg and its inflexibility, and only putting on his right shoe, since the left one wouldn’t fit over the paddle that represented the foot. Tugging at his shirt, he figured he’d button it on the way to the station, and tucked the bottles into his pants pocket. The soft ‘clack’ of glass against metal reminded him where his watch was, and Ed knew he was ready to go. 

The window was screened, but quicker to go out of than the doors with their bells on them to alert Winry to any customers who might come. Ed closed the window but was shaking too much to put the screen back into the frame. Lightning illuminated Rush Valley, making it look blue and strange, emphasizing the sharp corners and casting shadows. Ed ignored them to take his bearings at the first intersection, and began hop-running toward the train station. 

The rain started falling in earnest before he was halfway to the station. The cold water drenched him, making it harder for him to move, but Ed forced his pace. Mud sucked at the loaner foot, the moisture already getting into the joints of the wood, making it that much harder to move. The curb caught him by surprise, seeming to leap up and smack into the wooden foot, sending him crashing to the sidewalk. The rain drenched him as he lay there, stunned, then Ed shook his head, his wet hair whipping against his cheeks. “Damn it!” He couldn’t catch his breath but made himself sit up, using the suitcase as an aid to get to his feet again. Lightning flashed, thunder following right on its heels. Ed shuddered, his arm throbbing in its cast, his knee so sore, it felt like a railroad spike hammering through it with each bend. It didn’t matter. He needed to get to the train station. Clenching his teeth, Ed increased his pace, ignoring the pain wracking his body.

_“Why are you running away, Brother?”_

“Shut up, Al,” he growled, nearly braining himself with the cast when he tried to shove his wet bangs out of his eyes. 

_“This is a bad idea. You should go back to Winry and the Curtises.”_

Shouting, “I’m not going back there!” Ed turned a snarl toward his brother – no, Al was _dead._ “I’m not listening to you!”

_“I’m trying to help you, you idiot. You know this isn’t the way to get better.”_

Ed swore as his flesh foot landed in a puddle, his shoe flooding. “I don’t care about getting better, Al.” Just ahead, he could see the lights that marked the train station. “Shut up and leave me alone!” Breaking into a lopsided jog that jostled every aching bone in his body, Ed managed to climb the stairs to the station by gritting his teeth and swearing under his breath. 

The train still sat in the station, tenders cleaning out the ashes from the engine, others loading water, wood and coal to keep the train moving. A few porters unloaded metal plate from freight cars. The engineer oiled the wheels and checked the mechanics. Ed scanned the length of the train, relieved to see a few passenger cars up at the front of the line near the engine. Thumping his way across the platform to the clerk’s window, Ed dragged his State Alchemist watch out of his pocket. “I need a ticket to Central City,” he said, starting to feel the weight of his cold clothes sticking to his skin. Shivering, Ed wiped his nose with his fingertips. “Is the train running on time?”

The old man behind the counter bobbed his head. “Yessir, it is.” He passed a ticket through the window. “Leavin’ us a li’l early, ain’cha?”

“Huh?” Ed frowned, his mouth twisting. 

“Yer leg.” He leaned over the counter, peering through the window grate. “S’loaner, ain’t it?” 

Ed’s scowl deepened as he looked down at the wooden leg. “It’s okay,” he said, curt, just wanting the old man to mind his own business. “I’m fine!” 

“Don’t hafta be so rude,” the clerk scolded before slamming the window down. 

Waving an obscene gesture at the closed window, Ed hobbled to the closest passenger car. His broken arm ached from carrying the suitcase, his stump feeling like a mallet pounded on it. It hurt worse mounting the steps onto the car, but Ed ignored the burning and pounding sensations to reach a vacant seat. Drowsy passengers paid him no mind, some of them managing to sleep through all the noise of the station. Sighing deeply, Ed all but fell into his seat, tucking his ticket into the breast pocket of his sopping shirt. 

Tight wires seemed to wrap around his body as he set the suitcase on the floor next to his feet. Trembling fingers slipped into the pocket of his pants and Ed pulled out the laudanum, screwing the lid off the bottle. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching. 

_“Don’t do it, Brother.”_

“Shut up, Al,” Ed said, lifting the bottle to his mouth and taking a sip. The bitter taste coated his tongue, making him shudder. “I’m not listening to you any more.” 

Outside the passenger car window, the storm raged on.


	16. One Year, Six and a Half Months, Part 3

* * *

The sound of a ringing telephone jarred Roy Mustang awake. He blinked a couple of times, rubbing his eyes, glancing automatically at the alarm clock. The dim lighting in his bedroom let him know more than the barely-seen arms of the clock that it had to be early morning, probably close when he’d normally be shutting off the alarm. The telephone jangled again, reminding him of what had woken him, and he reached for the receiver. “Mustang,” he said thickly. 

“Brigadier General Mustang, I am sorry to disturb you, however a telephone call came in for your attention.” The voice wasn’t one he recognized, but Roy knew from the officious way of speaking, it had to be someone from the military’s telephone banks. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “Is there a message, or am I being connected to someone?”

“A message, sir.” 

Roy fumbled on the night stand, turning on the light and finding the pen and pad he kept under it. “I’m ready,” he said. He took down the telephone number, and the name. “Captain Hattenbach?” he repeated the name. 

“Yes, sir. Captain Hattenbach. She said it’s in regard to someone in your command.”

“Thank you,” he said, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Again, sir, I’m sorry to have woken you,” the voice said, and rang off. 

Sitting up, Roy rubbed his eyes, wiping the sleep from them. He didn’t recognize the name Hattenbach, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. His recollections didn’t bring to mind any of his men planning a debauched evening out, and Havoc and Breda were pretty vocal about things like that. Reading over the telephone number brought on a frown. It wasn’t local. 

Only one of his command was out of the Central City area, and that one was supposed to be on his way to Dublith. Roy picked up the receiver, dialing the numbers. The operator came on the line and promised to connect the call. A few clicks and hums later, a woman’s voice came on the line, sounding more than a little harried. “Sondem Police Station,” she said, and a dull roar came through from the background. 

Roy blinked, trying to place Sondem in the map of Amestris he carried in his head. The name didn’t sound at all familiar. “Brigadier General Roy Mustang,” he said, “I was told I have a message from a Captain Hattenbach.” 

“One moment, please, Brigadier General.” Her harried voice was replaced by another click and a hum, and then another woman’s voice came on the line. “This is Captain Hattenbach,” she said in clipped tones that didn’t belong in the South Area. To Roy’s ears, she sounded more like someone Olivier Armstrong might’ve served with in Briggs. 

“Captain Hattenbach, Brigadier General Roy Mustang. I received a request to contact you regarding someone in my command.” He hesitated for a split second. “Are these lines secure?”

“As secure as we can make them, Brigadier General,” Hattenbach said dryly. 

“First, Captain, I appreciate you not using any names. I’d like to continue that. I understand you have something of mine in your care?” 

“Yes, sir, I do.” From the way her voice went drier still, Roy knew whatever the circumstances that had brought Edward to the attention of the officials of Sondem, they weren’t good. 

“I’ll be sending someone to collect the item, Captain. In the mean time, I appreciate your time and effort in contacting me.” 

“Just doing my job, sir,” Hattenbach replied, though she warmed up slightly at the thanks. 

“Someone will be in contact with you shortly, Captain.” Roy thanked her again, and replaced the receiver in its cradle. Digging his fingers into his hair, he huffed, “Edward, you’re being such an idiot.” Getting out of bed, he dressed himself quickly, and caught the receiver up to make a call. Even as she spoke her greeting, Roy was saying, “Hawkeye, yes, I’m aware of the time. I need to know the telephone number for Miss Rockbell’s shop.” 

Was that a hesitation on her part? “Has something happened with Edward?” 

“Yes,” Roy growled softly. “He’s in the care of the Sondem Police Office, under a Captain Hattenbach.” 

“Sondem?” Hawkeye didn’t sound like she recognized the name of the town, either. “I will need to locate Winry’s number, sir.” 

“Excellent. I’ll call a car, and pick you up on the way to the train station.” Roy pulled his static gloves from the drawer of the nightstand. “I’ll spring for breakfast, even.”

“Sir?”

“Someone has to go retrieve the idiot puppy,” Roy said. “I figure you’re better at keeping track of him than anyone.” 

She sounded almost as dry as Hattenbach as she said, “I’ve certainly had the training for looking after idiot puppies.” 

Roy grinned, knowing all too well Hawkeye wasn’t talking about her dog. “You have my permission to wipe the floor with him, Hawkeye.” 

“Thank you, sir, but it’d probably make more of an impression coming from Winry.” 

“We can discuss that on the way to the train station. I’ll see you in approximately twenty minutes.” Roy broke the connection with that and dialed the motor pool, requesting a car to pick him up as soon as possible. With his rank, that meant it wouldn’t be very long before a vehicle was idling outside his tiny military house, and he’d better hurry if he was going to get in touch with Havoc to let him know what was going on. 

* * *

“Where the hell is he?” Fury made Winry want to stomp her feet like a kid or even throw a wrench into the wall. Edward’s bedroom was empty, his suitcase missing. She’d knocked on his door around seven in the morning to wake him up, get him breakfast before the train left for Dublith, only to find rumpled sheets, no suitcase, and a single left shoe half under the bed. 

Izumi looked over her shoulder, studying the room for a second before crossing it and pushing up the window. “The screen’s missing,” she said, leaning halfway out the opening and picking it up. Mud coated the rim, and Izumi’s lip curled. “He went out the window?”

“Because the doors all have bells on them,” Winry groaned, slapping her forehead. “We would’ve heard him leaving otherwise.”

Sig’s footsteps made the floor tremble under her feet. “I called the train station. Ed was there late last night. The ticket seller recognized my description.” 

Fists clenching, Izumi snapped, “That idiot!” 

“Where is he going?” Winry turned to Sig. 

“Central City,” he said. “I told him to hold three tickets for the next train.” 

Her mouth tightened and Winry glanced sideways. Edward needed someone to kick his ass, but, “I have my other customers.” 

“Don’t worry.” Izumi made a fist and cracked her knuckles. “We’ll go get him. You can keep working.” 

Sig’s huge hand landed on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Once we get to Dublith with him, we’ll call you, and you can come there. Like we planned.” 

“Yeah.” Winry knew she was right; knew that Izumi and Sig could take care of Edward. Besides, she had other customers who needed her. Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she wondered if Edward might need her more. 

* * *

Cold. 

Edward frowned, turning his head slightly. Harsh light seeped in through the seams of his eyelids, making his eyes ache. What the fuck had happened last night? He couldn’t remember what Josie and he had been doing. Had they gone to the bar? His head pounded in time with his pulse, disrupting his thoughts when he tried to gather them together. It felt like he’d start to have some conclusive memory, then ba-boom! It shattered in the pulse of pain. 

A clatter intruded, making his head ache worse. Groaning, Edward rolled, trying to pull his pillow over his ears. No pillow, no soft mattress, no warm body next to him. Instead, his arms rattled and his nose crashed into a wall, making him curse and jerk, his balance lost when he tumbled off the edge of the cot. The floor reached up to smack him, hard enough to make him lose his breath. His stomach clenched around itself, like a hot stone lodged deep in his gut. Swallowing hard, he tried to keep his body under control, knowing it was a losing battle. 

Edward spat bile. He could almost swear his nose hairs were burning from the stench of his vomit. Everything around him swayed for a second, and he started to reach out his hands to help keep his balance, but his right hand went along with his left. Stocks encased his wrists, holding his hands prisoner. As his tearing eyes cleared, Edward realized a wooden dummy foot poked out from the left leg of his pants. _Oh, fuck._ Everything came crashing back – the hospital stay; the train ride south from Central City to Rush Valley; breaking into Winry’s medicine cabinet. _Shit!_ He started to rub his temples, only to smack himself in the forehead with the stocks. Stars exploded in his eyes for a few seconds, and Edward was hard pressed not to vomit again. 

Gaining some faint semblance of control over his body, he blinked his eyes clear enough to study his current whereabouts. Concrete floor, partial walls and ceiling, with a lone window high overhead letting in a pale, diffuse light. When he swung his head carefully, Edward saw bars making up the rest of the walls with a corridor and more bars beyond that. A man stared at him blankly from across the way, trapped in his own cell. _What the hell did I do?_ Edward wondered, racking his brains, trying to remember. Yeah, stealing from Winry’s medicine, that hadn’t been the greatest idea, but, he passed his dry tongue over his lips, he’d needed the laudanum to keep from hearing the voices. 

From hearing _Al._ Edward shuddered, trying not to think how Alphonse would react to seeing him like this. _It doesn’t matter,_ he reminded himself fiercely, cuttingly, _Al’s dead. He can’t see anything any more._

With a muted groan, Edward turned his thoughts elsewhere. He pressed his hands against the hard surface of the cot, using its steadiness to help him get to his feet. The acrid scent of urine and feeling of wet fabric against his thighs let him know he wouldn’t need to use the head any time soon. A part of him knew he ought to be disgusted with himself, running away from the people who were only trying to help him, but Edward ignored it to sit down on the cot, the weight of his head pulling him horizontal. He remembered it’d been impossible to get comfortable while wearing stocks in Briggs. This time was even worse, since his left leg, for all intents and purposes, was gone, and what replaced it was a nearly inanimate hunk of wood. 

Edward closed his eyes against the continuous pain in his head, dreading what might come next. The drugs he’d stolen were seeping out of his body; carried by his sweat and piss. His body trembled, heralding the beginning of his crash. A slow, dull throb reminded him his arm and fingers were still healing, as well as his ribs. He’d hauled himself out of a window in the rain, and that whatever else had happened last night, he’d pushed his body too hard in an attempt to escape. Look where that got him. 

A tingling began in his left big toe. Edward swallowed, his breathing shallow, eyes still closed, trying to ride out the phantom pain from his left leg. Automail kept him from feeling the sensations that often came with a missing limb, but now that Winry’d taken his leg – damn her! – he’d have to deal with this on top of his queasiness and shakes. He wondered if someone would come and check on him soon. He wondered how he’d gotten here. Again. 

“Hey, buddy.” 

Ignoring the voice outside his head, Edward stubbornly kept his eyes closed. The window had to be facing the east, the way the light crawled down the wall. Or maybe there was a window in the cell opposite his that was illuminating his skull like a spotlight shining through his eye sockets. Fuck. Maybe he should go under the cot. It’d be cooler there, on the floor, and the light wouldn’t be frying his brain.

“Buddy, are you an alchemist?” 

Something about that voice cut through Edward’s spinning thoughts. Possibly the sibilant hiss to the last syllable of the question, reminding him of the way Truth spoke. Maybe someone actually asking him what he was, who he was. Notoriety was almost as good as fame, after all. But Edward didn’t really want to make small talk, not with his head beating like a drum. The thought of aspirin twisted his gut into tighter knots. He automatically brought his arm up, realizing when his automail arm got jerked, too, that he couldn’t block the sunlight with his arm. If he rolled onto his side, he could block part of it with the stocks, he realized, but moving seemed like a hell of a lot of trouble. Edward wasn’t sure if his stomach would cooperate with moving, anyway. 

“Psst. Buddy. I know you can hear me!”

Edward squeezed his eyes even more tightly closed, even though it made his lashes ache. He remembered getting on the train, and taking a nip from the bottle. After that, everything was gone. Now, he didn’t even know what town he was in. His head felt like it was trapped in one of Winry’s vices, and the jaws were closing ever more tightly on his skull, squeezing out all ability to even think. He knew he’d been heading back to Central City, and Josie, but beyond that, a haze coated his memories. 

_Why the hell couldn’t it cover up the memories of Al?_

Something rattled along, the sound hammering against Ed’s ears. He whined, curling up as best he could, the wooden leg refusing to bend; the stocks digging into his wrists. His stomach twisted again, and he breathed through his teeth, trying to keep from vomiting. 

“Hey!” 

The shout reverberated inside his skull. Edward squeezed his eyes even more tightly closed, ignoring the headache that brought on, trying to ignore the voice even when it announced its presence again. A man’s voice, from the timbre, though really, he didn’t care. At least it was coming from outside his head, he thought, wishing he could burrow deep into something and hide out there until the pain in his body settled. 

“You, boy.” The voice went silky and officious. “Lieutenant Colonel.” 

Yes, that was definitely his title. Edward didn’t want to move, though. If he ignored the voice, the man it belonged to would go away, right? The thought flitted through his mind that Alphonse would be disappointed if he didn’t speak up. He ignored that, too. Alphonse was dead, and now, Winry had to hate him, too. He could go to Central City, and he and Josie would…would be all right, he thought. They’d figure out a way to make things work out, and they’d be okay. 

“Someone’s coming for you,” the voice went on. 

Edward stiffened. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Oh, hell, if Winry came. Or Izumi. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the additional flare of pain that brought on. 

The man laughed, as if that was the reaction he expected, and with the same rattling noise, he seemed to leave. Good, Ed thought, trying to relax as much as he could on the damp cot. His clothes itched where he’d pissed himself, and the stink of vomit still rose rankly in his nostrils. He couldn’t clean himself up; couldn’t do much of anything with the stocks on his wrists. His left leg began aching, even though it didn’t exist. The pain rolled up from his nonexistent toes all the way to his hip, worse than any storm-induced aches he’d dealt with in the past. Stomach twisting again, Edward hung his head over the side of the cot, bile stringing out of his mouth. He fell back with a groan, throat and nose burning, his gut still roiling. 

“Hey!” someone shouted at him again. “Lieutenant Colonel!” 

Edward used the stocks to block the light. He wished he could cover his ears to blot out the sounds around him, but that wouldn’t do anything for the sounds inside his head. God didn’t want him, Edward knew, but now, he was just drifting into hell. 

* * *


	17. One Year, Six and a Half Months (part four)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, an update. Thanks to Cornerofmadness for her edits.

The weak morning sun barely brightened her workspace. Winry sat at her bench, her forearms resting on the top of it, her fingers poised to start working. Except now, she stared at the tabletop, and the pieces in front of her. Not the pieces themselves, but the shadows they cast in the lemon-pale light. She traced her forefinger through the gloom, wondering if the darkness collected under her fingertip, and if she moved some from one bit of shade to another. Wondering if all the shadows could be combined together, to make a big blot on her bench top, or if they could be destroyed, if the sun’s light was bright enough. 

She thought of the eclipse, shivering, and tried to turn her thoughts away from it. 

The telephone ringing startled her out of her musings, though it took a few seconds – a few rings – before Winry could drag herself to the telephone stand. Picking up the receiver, she said, “Rockbell Automail!” in her best, cheeriest voice. 

“Winry? It’s Riza.” 

Her fingers clenched reflexively around the receiver and she shivered again. “It’s about Ed, isn’t it?” 

Riza didn’t hesitate in her reply. “He’s in Sondem, in jail. The Brigadier General and I are going to retrieve him.” She hesitated, and added, “Sondem is closer to Rush Valley than it is Central City.” 

Winry tried to think of Sondem, finally remembering a whistle stop only a few hours north. That Edward had gotten stopped so fast…oh, that idiot. “Thank you, Riza,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the receiver, tapping her finger on the mouthpiece for a few seconds, then making up her mind. She’d call Mr. Garfiel from the station. Locking the door behind her, she ran, hoping she wouldn’t be too late to catch up to the Curtises and meet the morning train. 

X X X

Edward opened his eyes, searching the ceiling for something; he wasn’t sure what. A sign, he told himself humorlessly, but if there was one to read there, it wasn’t in any language he knew. Instead, he shifted his weight, trying to find even a modicum of comfort on the bench where he lay. Cold leached his skin of any warmth he might’ve had; the rain last night – it had only been last night, hadn’t it? – had drained him of a lot while he was on the train. Ed wondered if he’d get sick, and what drugs he might be able to cadge out of it. Licking his cracked lips, he tried to place what had happened after he’d gotten on the train, but couldn’t come up with anything. He’d left Winry’s, running to the station, getting soaking wet. He’d swallowed down the liquid in the bottle he’d taken from her medicine cabinet. At the memory, his throat convulsed and his skin twitched. Ed bit back a groan. Behind his left eyeball, his head began aching. It felt like someone was determined to poke his eye out of its socket with an ice pick and didn’t care what got hit in the process. 

“Elric.” 

It took a few seconds before he realized someone was calling his name. Ed blinked, wondering if he’d lost time. The shadows in the cell seemed different. Maybe they’d crawled around while he wasn’t paying attention. 

“Get up.” A sergeant stood at the door, his waxed mustache making perfect curls on his cheeks. The way he blotted out the corridor, Ed was pretty sure he was at least as big as Armstrong or Sig Curtis, probably as strong, too. 

Sighing, Ed sat up, his wooden leg clattering on the floor of the cell. Everything swayed around him for a few seconds, then settled enough he could dare get to his feet. A few staggering steps took him to the door and he exited it as the sergeant ordered with a jerk of his thumb. A meaty hand landed on his shoulder, half-guiding him, half-pushing him along. Ed stumbled, but the hand wasn’t about to let him fall. Not in front of the other prisoners. “Is someone here for me?” The sergeant didn’t reply, but his hand squeezed tighter, hard enough that Ed was sure he’d have a bruise. As an answer, it sure as hell left a lot to be desired. 

The hall between the cells wasn’t very long and the doorway at the end of it opened up into a tiny room with a heavy door. The sergeant banged on the door, announcing Ed’s name in a roar. The ice pick behind his eye became a dagger, stabbing and twisting. Biting his lip, Ed tried to concentrate on the pain. The door opened before he could get control over it. The sergeant shoved him over the threshold, the loaner leg getting caught on the lip of the frame. Ed felt it like he was in a drug-fog, slowly tumbling to the ground. A hand, big as a ham, caught him, hauling him upright again. Head spinning, Ed raised his eyes, spotting a grim, bearded face. His gut clenched like a fist. 

Smaller hands grabbed him and gave him a shake. “What the hell did you think you were doing, Ed?” Izumi roared in his face. 

Stomach roiling, Ed barely managed to turn his head. Bile streamed out of his mouth, coating his chin, the front of his clothes and the stocks. He coughed, his nose burning from the acid and snot running out of his nostrils. Someone controlled his fall to the floor, but Ed barely noticed as he vomited again. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up but it heaved anyway. A streamer of bile clung to his lower lip, then fell away into a reeking pool dripping off the stocks and onto the floor. 

“Oh, Ed,” someone said, and the gentle sorrow in that voice made him want to cover his ears. He didn’t want to even think _she_ was here, too. 

“Stupid boy,” Izumi scolded, “didn’t you think we’d find out where you were?” 

Ed stared at the bile, its slick surface reflecting some light. His belly heaved again, but there wasn’t anything in there to come up. He gagged and coughed, and someone wiped his face. Calloused hands, could’ve been either Izumi or Winry. Josie’s hands were soft – no, he couldn’t think of her right now. He had to get out of here before they dragged him back south. “C - ” his voice cracked and Ed tried again. “Can we go?” The clattering sound made him want to hit someone, but he realized it was his teeth chattering. Damn it. 

“You’re not going anywhere.” Ed could tell the sergeant smiled. “You’re supposed to wait for someone else.” 

“Who?” Winry. Curious. 

“His commander,” the sergeant said, obviously relishing saying it out loud. 

Ed groaned. The bastard, too? Hadn’t he seen enough of him recently? Damn it. If he had to wait for Mustang…

“Can we at least get the stocks off him to clean him up?” Winry asked, sounding impatient and angry. Nice to know it could be directed at someone else for a change. 

“Sorry, miss.” And he did sound apologetic. “Captain’s orders. As an alchemist, he could be dangerous.” 

Unable to help himself, Ed barked out a laugh, feeling their attention focus on him. Winry interpreted the sound. “He’s sick,” she insisted. “He needs a change of clothes and a bath.” 

The sergeant exhaled noisily, but Ed knew how persuasive Winry could be – and with Izumi and Sig to back her up, they’d probably scare the sergeant half to death. Ed coughed, dragging his head up to peer at the sergeant. “I’ll be good,” he rasped. 

“See?” Winry planted her fists on her hips, daring the sergeant to gainsay her. “He’ll be good.” 

The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on Ed, though he kept his mouth closed, for once. He kept his eyes trained on Winry for the moment, wondering when she’d taken off Al’s ring. There wasn’t even a mark on her finger to show she’d worn one. He’d been too sick to realize it at the hospital, he realized, though he couldn’t remember when he’d last seen it on her hand. Josie, he thought, would hate him even wondering about it. She’d probably kick his ass if she found out. 

Izumi said, “You can come with us, sergeant, and keep watch.” She sounded almost nice about it. “But I’m sure we can handle him.” Waving between Sig and herself, she included Winry in the wave. “Stocks or no stocks.” 

“Sorry, ma’am. Captain’s orders. But I’ll help you get him to the showers.” He hauled Ed up by his collar, ignoring the yelp of protest. 

“I can walk,” Ed grumbled, his head pounding again with the change in his position. He sucked on his lower lip, trying to work up some moisture. His tongue clogged his mouth like a dry sponge, and his throat ached from the acid he’d thrown up. Water, he thought, he needed something to drink. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” the sergeant said, keeping him on his feet. Ed couldn’t feel the floor underfoot. Was he even walking? “He’s been sick a couple of times over the night.” 

Winry floated next to him. “Certainly smells like it.” 

Walking was putting one foot in front of the other. He had two good legs; he just had to use them. How many times had he said that to someone else before, trying to motivate them? The corridor stretched out in front of him, the scent of damp concrete tickling his nose. “Sorry, ladies, men only,” the sergeant said, stopping abruptly at a closed door with a glass window in it. Ed swayed on his feet – yeah, that meant they were on the floor. Maybe he’d actually been using them.

“Are you planning on cleaning him, then?” Izumi challenged. The sergeant relented with a grunt, pushing Ed ahead of him into the room. The women followed them. Through bleary eyes, Edward studied the bathroom. There were toilets separated by low partitions, urinals, and sinks, but no mirrors. Beyond them was the shower room, with nozzles dripping out of the wall. Overhead, a walkway allowed guards to watch the shower room without getting wet. The tiles reminded Edward of the hospital green before Izumi stepped in front of him, blocking off his view. “All right, Ed,” she said, scowling at him, “let’s get you out of these clothes.” Her nose wrinkled at getting so close to him. Ed didn’t blame her. The stink of his body could curl the hairs in his nostrils.

He wondered about washing his clothes. If his hands were free, he could transmute his clothes clean. A memory surfaced, of Winry’s horror Al and he didn’t wash their clothes. Ed remembered arguing with her over it, about how he could keep his clothing in excellent condition without mending or cleaning, just by using alchemy (he’d neglected to tell her if the fabric thinned with each repair, unless additional cloth was added). Al had agreed with both of them, that it was nice having washed clothes, because of the way they smelled clean, and the transmuted clothes, because it was a lot easier. Winry had nearly lost it, fuming over the idea a transmutation could take the place of a good cleaning and mending. 

Now, Winry’s voice echoed off the walls as she politely argued with the sergeant over whether he would unlock the stocks on Ed’s wrists. The cool of the shower room made Ed shiver. The damp in his clothes – hell, the chafing between his legs reminded him he’d pissed himself sometime during the night – made him that much colder.

The door opened with a squeal, and someone tromped through. “I was told my subordinate was here?” Mustang sniffed loudly, making a disgusted noise. “I’d hoped he was in better shape.”

“Brigadier General, sir.” The sergeant left off talking to Winry, his salute stiff and precise, though the cords in his neck stood out. Winry could do that to a guy. 

“At ease, sergeant.” The retort of Mustang’s boots ricocheted off the walls as he approached. Ed let his head loll, not wanting to see the asshole. “Edward,” Mustang said. “When I allowed you out of my sight, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Especially not in this condition.” 

Ed curled his lip but didn’t say anything. A hand cuffed the back of his skull, making him grunt and jerk. “Answer the man, Ed,” Izumi said. 

“He didn’t ask a question,” Ed’s growl turned into a yip when Izumi slapped his head again. “Damn it!” 

“Ah, there’s the Edward Elric we all know,” Mustang said in the smooth way he had. “Sergeant, please unlock those stocks, so he can get cleaned up. I’m sure you have a hose or something you can spray him with?” 

“Mr. Mustang,” Winry said determinedly, “Izumi and I will take care of Ed.” 

Mustang scoffed. “Miss Rockbell, no one would ask you to do that.” He took hold of Ed’s hair, pulling his head up. His nose wrinkled and he recoiled, saying to the sergeant, “A hose is fine. Probably better than he deserves.” 

Ed clenched his teeth at the pain stinging through his scalp. It exacerbated his headache, sending lightning strikes through his brain. “Let go,” he snapped, slapping at Mustang with the stocks. His temples pounded and his mouth tasted like a bird crapped in it. His stomach kept rolling, even though nothing could be inside it. The bastard jerking his head around made Edward dizzy. He closed his eyes, wanting to sink down to the floor. Maybe if he fell hard enough, he’d crack his skull and all the pain would spill out. 

“Sir,” Winry’s voice broke through all the agony. “Respectfully, no. Sergeant, please unshackle him, so I can clean him up.” 

A bile-flavored moan bubbled up at Winry’s request. Why the hell wouldn’t she just let him be? She had to be pissed at him stealing the medications. Why had she come here to take care of him again? Maybe this was her way of punishing him – being so nice, he’d hate himself. 

Roy jerked his hair again. “Say ‘excuse me’ when you burp like that.” 

“Fuck off,” Edward managed to get out. 

Izumi snapped, “Language, Ed!” at him. 

He sneered, though he had no real emotion in it. Everything was muted by the illness, except the bastard’s fucking hair tugs. “Keep yanking on my hair, and I’ll puke on you,” he told Mustang, another belch erupting from his gut. 

Mustang winced, leaning back. “Disgusting,” he said. “Really, Mrs. Curtis, Miss Rockbell, you should let the sergeant use a hose. I’m sure there’s one around here somewhere.” The corners of the sergeant’s mouth turned up at the bastard’s repeated suggestion. 

“I know how to deal with people in Ed’s condition,” Winry said. She would. She’d been taking care of him at the hospital and that had to have been hell. Ed was pretty sure he wouldn’t have done that for anyone in his condition. Well. Maybe Al, but that was different. Al wasn’t like him, had never been like him. Josie crossed his mind. Ed swallowed sharply, wondering what she was doing. What she had to be thinking. Did she miss him? Maybe, or maybe she missed his money. Ed shivered, thinking she would’ve turned up her nose at him, had she seen him puking and pissing and shitting himself in the hospital, but she might’ve hauled him out of the jail by his hair and thrown him in the nearest bathtub. She and the bastard might get on too well.

Winry was still arguing with Mustang and the sergeant, and Izumi. Ed felt his stomach drop. She stared right at him. He couldn’t read her mind, but her expression grew blacker by the second. He winced even though she didn’t reach for him. That glare meant nothing good for him. 

“We’ll take care of Edward,” Izumi said, and her tone made Ed’s balls shrivel. 

“Well. Then we’ll leave him in your capable hands,” the bastard said, smirking. “Sergeant, if you’ll do the honors?” He gestured at the stocks. 

“Hold up your hands, Elric,” the sergeant growled. Ed thought about disobeying for a split second, but he wouldn’t get anywhere fighting back, except for a worse beating from Izumi. He jerked his hands up, nearly smacking himself in the face with the edge of the wooden stocks. The sergeant grabbed a corner, holding it steady while he inserted the key and twisted, the lock clicking open. “He’s all yours.” 

“I hope you didn’t do any damage to his broken arm,” Winry said, peeling the stock off his wrists. 

Broken – oh. The cast. Edward had almost forgotten it with the stocks in the way. A sharp twinge in his scalp let him know Mustang hadn’t let go of him yet. “I c’n wash myself.” The words came out of his mouth as if under their own volition. His head ached too much for to make sense of it. Maybe it was better than being hosed down. 

“You can barely stand,” Izumi said, still sounding scary. “Besides, we’ve seen it all before.” 

“Recently,” Winry added. 

“I’ll leave you ladies to him then,” Mustang said, gloating as he strolled through the door. 

Edward was pretty sure this was going to hurt. 

X X X


	18. One Year, Six and a Half Months (part five)

Josie paced the length of the apartment, turning and walking back the other way. A cigarette dangled from her fingers. She raised it to her mouth, taking a drag. She sent the smoke streaming out of her nostrils as she walked, tendrils drifting up to stain the ceiling even darker yellow. The worn carpet rubbed against the soles of her bare feet, the sensation like walking on sandpaper. Throwing herself onto the couch, Josie wriggled her shoulders. The rough weave of the fabric covering the couch scratched at her skin. She raised her cigarette, puffing at it. 

The click of the clock on the desk made her twitch. It boomed in her ears, like a hammer pounding on metal. Josie sucked on the end of her cigarette, watching as the paper burned down nearly to her lips. Plucking the cigarette from her mouth, she ground it out in the ashtray, and got to her feet. She rolled her shoulders, tilting her head from side to side to make her neck pop. It didn’t release the tension like she’d hoped. Sitting back down, she pulled a wooden box out from under the couch. Her fingers trembling, she lifted the box’s lid, revealing a battered leather pouch, cigarette papers, and matches. A bitter odor rose from the box. Josie moistened her lips again, opening the pouch. Inside, stems and bits remained of one of her last purchases when Edward was still living with her. It wasn’t that long ago, she thought, wondering at how fast the marijuana had vanished. The stems weren’t nearly as good as the leaves; not as potent nor good-tasting. 

The opium was long gone and Josie didn’t have the money herself to buy more. She didn’t have the money to make the rent. Ed usually left some for her, and, because he was a State Alchemist, the landlord didn’t say much if they were late. Ed never was, but sometimes, she forgot, or needed the money for something else. Josie wished she had some of his money now. 

When Winry Rockbell had come to the apartment with that behemoth of a man, Josie hadn’t expected it. She hadn’t had the time to squirrel away some of Ed’s money. He wasn’t careless with it, no, but he’d kept it in a box in the bedroom. The blond bitch had taken that box with her when she’d left, along with Ed’s clothes and a few other things. Josie almost missed the afghan that had lain across the back of the couch. It’d been soft and warm on chilly nights. 

Gnawing on her knuckle, Josie stood up again, walking to the window facing the street. The casement had stains on it from glasses and cups and burns from cigarettes and pipes left there. A dead fly lay legs up in the sill. She wrinkled her nose, but ignored the bug to peer through the wavered glass. Pushing the tatty curtains aside, Josie studied the street below. The snow had finally melted, though it seemed cold enough to come back again at any time. She half-expected the sun to shine grey, but it did its best to illuminate the grimy road and sidewalks. 

She searched the streets for some flash of gold. The sunlight tricked her twice, gilding someone’s hair into the right shade, at least at first glance. “Where are you, Ed?” The quaver in her voice made her tremble even harder. She knew she wouldn’t last long without him. He had the money to get what she needed. Putting her thumbnail between her teeth, she chewed on it. It tore enough Josie could peel it away from her finger. The brief flash of pain didn’t dissuade her, instead, she bit deeper, barely realizing she did. 

The second sting cleared her head enough to send her to the telephone. Edward had written numbers on a piece of paper and tacked it to the wall next to the telephone. Josie ran her finger along the printed names, stopping on one of them. She tapped the name twice before picking up the receiver and connecting with the operator. “I need to be connected to the military HQ,” she said, forcing her voice to remain light and easy. 

“Yes, ma’am. One moment.” 

The series of clicks sounded sharp in Josie’s ear. She tried to count them – she’d only called Ed at work once, maybe twice, and she couldn’t remember hearing this many clicks. Maybe the operator was connecting her somewhere else? She nearly hung up the receiver when another voice came on the line. “Amestrian Military Headquarters, this is the operator. How may I direct your call?” 

Her mouth dry, Josie recited the office and name of the person she needed to speak to. While she waited for the connection, she drummed her fingers on her thigh. She wanted another cigarette, but couldn’t take the time to roll it. It might distract her from what she needed to say. She could’ve called Ed’s friend, Mrs. Hughes, but it was harder to talk to women then men. Pushing a stray curl off her forehead, Josie inhaled deeply, coughing when a man’s voice came on the line. 

“Hello?” he asked. 

Getting control of cough, Josie choked out, “I’m trying to reach First Lieutenant Storch?” 

“Of course,” the man said, “hold on.” Though he muffled the mouthpiece of the receiver, Josie could still hear him. “Storch! Another of your girlfriends!” He laughed as if it was some sort of joke. 

Josie clenched her hand tighter around the receiver, grinding her teeth together. She needed this man Storch. He’d tell her what she needed to know. But men hated to be laughed at, and now he might not want to help her. She tried to shove her rage aside as someone else shouted the first man down. There was a terrible clatter on the other end of the line, then someone breathlessly said, “This is Storch.” 

“First Lieutenant Storch, thank you.” Josie remembered to sound soft and humble. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Edward Elric’s girlfriend.” 

There was a pause, and Storch’s voice answered warily, “Yeah?” 

“Yes, you took care of me at the hospital. I never got to thank you for that properly.” 

Storch mumbled something that sounded like, “Oh, you,” then said more clearly, “That’s all right, ma’am.” 

Josie swallowed, rubbing her temple. A throb there distracted her, and she had to fight to keep her attention focused on the telephone and the man on the other end of the line. “First Lieutenant Storch, I know you can help me. You’re the only person who can!” She clutched the receiver tighter, as if it was his hand. “Someone,” Josie swallowed, “that woman took Edward away, and she didn’t even tell me where she was taking him.” 

“What woman?” Storch sounded curious. 

“That woman, his mechanic,” she spat out. 

“Yeah, her.” He didn’t sound like he cared for Winry Rockbell any more than she did. 

“I need to find Ed. C-can you help me?” The quaver wasn’t feigned. 

Silence answered her, and Josie bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed. She stomped her foot, tightening both hands around the receiver. “Please!” she finally shouted. “I need to know where he is!”

“All right, all right, stop flapping your gums,” Storch said, grumbling something else under his breath that might’ve been, ‘Crazy bitch’. 

Josie licked her bleeding lip. “You’ll help me?” 

“Yes, I’ll help you. It might take a day or two to find out where he’s been assigned.” Storch sighed. “What’s your contact number?”

Smiling, Josie rattled off the numbers, and thanked Storch repeatedly before hanging up the receiver and breaking the connection. She spun away from the wall, giggling her delight. Soon, Ed would be with her again, and everything would be wonderful. And that Rockbell cunt could just go hang.

X X X

Edward shuddered in Izumi’s grip, trying desperately to keep his footing. She held him from behind, under his arms, and he could guess at the expression on her face. Her fingers felt like ice pincers, cold and hard, and his flesh side would be bruised afterward. 

“I can wash myself!” he snapped again.

“What, and give you a chance to get away like last time?” Winry asked. Her cheeks were pink, even in the weird greenish light of the shower room, but her glare gave him fair warning he was on her shit list. Poking him in the center of his chest with her forefinger, she snarled at him, “You’re not going anywhere, not ‘til we’re done.” 

Behind him, Izumi chuckled. The sound made Ed’s balls retract. “I don’t need anyone to wash me.” He tried bravado, curling his lip at Winry. “You can _watch_ if you want.” 

Her eyes froze over, reminding him for an instant of Major General Armstrong. Before Edward realized she’d moved, Winry snatched the front of his shirt, shaking him hard enough to tear him loose from Izumi’s grip. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she yelled in his face. “You idiot! You stole from me, Ed. From me! You broke into my medicine cabinet and took drugs I need for my customers. From people who trust me, the way I trusted you.” 

Edward jerked out of her grasp, nearly falling back into Izumi, but sidestepped her. His feet felt too huge, too awkward, and he nearly tripped over the loaner leg. It kept him out of both women’s reach, even though he nearly went down to one knee. Staggering, he managed to keep his balance on the slick floor. “Trusted me,” he said, almost spitting the words. “You haven’t trusted me since I let Al die.” 

The words echoed around them, bouncing off the hard walls and floor and ceiling. Winry’s eyes sparked at that, their cold fury vanishing in fire. Her fist slammed into his cheek, nearly spinning Ed around. He caught a glimpse of Izumi’s face as he lurched sideways, though he couldn’t read her expression. Standing up, Ed faced Winry again, tilting his head from one side to the other to make his neck pop. “Wanna do that again?” 

She panted, her fists half-raised, as if she might try to hit him a second time. Hectic color glowed in her cheeks, better than the sallowness the green walls produced. Edward swallowed, trying to keep from thinking how beautiful she was. “Yes,” Winry hissed, “but I’m not!” Instead, she poked him in the chest again. “You’re goading me, Ed. You want me to hit you, don’t you?” Lifting her chin so she could meet his eyes directly, she stared into them until Ed had to look away. “You jerk!” 

“I’m a lot worse than that, Winry.” He began unbuttoning his shirt, mentally swearing at the lack of control in his automail fingers and the stiffness of his flesh ones, with the cast hampering his movements. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” 

“Quit being an ass, Ed.” 

He glanced at her, trying to keep his face expressionless. Izumi stood behind Winry. The pair of them presented a united front of fury. Edward deliberately turned his back on them, dropping his shirt on the floor. The wooden leg threw his balance off. He knew it wasn’t worth anything now; too waterlogged from last night and a shower would do it no good at all. 

Izumi said something to Winry, who scoffed. He ignored them to lower his pants and underwear onto the damp floor. Hissing at the sting of his chapped thighs, Edward tottered under the shower head, turning the water on. The hot water knob barely worked, just adding the faintest amount of heat to the cold spewing out of the faucet. Shuddering, Edward stepped into the spray, letting it beat on his head. The sensation increased his headache, but he could ignore it, too. 

The squeal of the door opening caught his attention, but Edward didn’t bother turning around. The hard soap barely made a lather and felt rough against his skin. He scrubbed anyway, trying not to think why he bothered.

“Izumi’s transmuting your clothes clean,” Winry said behind him. “Mr. Mustang’s arranging for you to be released into his custody, then you’re coming with us.” 

He shivered under the barely-lukewarm water. His teeth chattered before he managed to clamp his jaw closed. 

“Do you want me to tell you where we’re going?” 

Finishing scrubbing himself, Ed ducked his head under the water stream, sluicing what soap he’d worked onto his body down the drain. His head pounded as he ducked to twist the water flow off. Behind him, Winry tapped her foot on the concrete floor, waiting on him to answer her question. He turned to face her, giving her a chance for a good look before asking, “Got a towel for me?” 

Her cheeks flushed bright, though Ed wasn’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment. “Yes,” she grated out, and stomped off to get one, sliding once on the damp floor. 

Ed closed his eyes for a few seconds, feeling his stomach roll up. He burped, a horrible taste filling his mouth, the gas stinging the inside of his nasal passages. Something hit him in the face and Ed grabbed at it automatically, realizing Winry had thrown a towel at him. The fabric scraped over his body, making it feel like it peeled skin rather than dried it. Edward persevered, wincing only when he rubbed the towel over the chaffed skin between his legs. 

The door opened again and Sig entered, ducking to get through the doorway. He carried Ed’s clothes, the size of his hands making them look more suitable for dolls. “Get dressed, Ed,” he said, offering the clothing. “We don’t have a lot of time to get to the train station.” 

Accepting the clothes, Ed began dressing. His still-damp hair dripped down his spine and clung to his face. He glanced through his bangs toward Winry. She stood with her arms folded, staring at the wooden leg. Edward had to force himself to keep dressing rather than hesitate. He knew what she saw – the foot, all banged up; nicks in the shaft of the calf. The water stains. The knee joint moved only with effort, the damp swelling it to near immobility. 

“Dressed,” he said tonelessly. 

“Come along, Ed,” Sig said, laying a meaty hand on his shoulder. The weight of it nearly staggered Ed, but he managed to stay upright. Winry fell in behind as Sig guided him out of the shower and back into the jail proper. Izumi and the bastard waited, with Hawkeye standing behind them both. 

Edward forced a cocky grin, tossing his damp bangs off his face. He showed all of his teeth. “So, where are we going?” 

“You’ll find out,” Izumi said. 

He didn’t like the smirk Mustang wore. The bastard led them out of the jail and into a pair of cars that drove them to the train station. Sig put Ed in the car with Mustang and Hawkeye. He guessed Sig joined Winry and Izumi in the other car. Leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes, Ed hoped to be ignored. 

“Aren’t you at all interested in what’s going to happen now, Edward?” 

No such reprieve. “No.”

Mustang went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “The Curtises and Miss Rockbell will be taking charge of you. Again.”

“Lucky me.” 

His voice beating against Edward’s ears like a drum tattoo, Mustang said, “That’s exactly how you should consider yourself, Edward. By rights, I should let you rot in that jail for a few days, or throw you in to the brig. You are being a fool, endangering yourself as well as the people around you. Do you have any idea what kind of damage you caused last night?” 

Edward tried to remember it, but drew a blank. “No.” He folded his arms. “I guess no one died, since that’d be in the news.” And even Mustang’s clout wouldn’t have gotten him out of jail if there’d been a death. 

Mustang leaned closer, the heat of his body feeling like an incinerator. Edward opened his eyes to see the man a few scant centimeters away from him. “No, Fullmetal,” Mustang said, his breath fanning against Ed’s face, “no deaths. Thankfully. But had you not been restrained, Edward, there could have been deaths. Do you not remember anything about what happened last night?”

Recoiling best he could from the bastard’s proximity, Ed curled his lip. “No.” 

“Hawkeye?” 

She recited as if reading from a file though no paper was in evidence, which just meant she’d fucking _memorized_ it, “At approximately seventeen-forty-five hours, the train pulled into the Sondem station. Military police were waiting, as contact had been made via radio that an alchemist on board was attempting to destroy a train car. The alchemist, identified as one Edward Elric, commonly known as ‘Fullmetal’, had awakened from sleep and started shouting at someone called ‘Alphonse’. It appeared to the witnesses that Major Elric was fighting a ghost.” 

He couldn’t see her through Mustang’s fat head, but Ed knew from the tone of her voice what kind of expression she wore – the same one she used when she called her boss out in front of others for being an idiot. 

“Do you have any explanation, Fullmetal?” the bastard asked through almost clenched teeth. 

“I guess I had a bad dream.” Ed shrugged, wanting to slide sideways and out of Mustang’s breathing range. 

“A bad dream? Are you sure it’s not a hallucination brought on by abuse of medicines not prescribed to you?” 

“Whatever.” 

Mustang hissed through his teeth, settling back into his seat. Ed twitched his shoulders. The headache had moved to encompass his skull all the way down to his back. Fuck. Josie knew how to take care of his headaches. She had a way with her hands, and the opium never hurt. Letting his head fall back, he stared at the ceiling, a niggling reminding him of something he might want to know. “So, where are you taking me?” 

“I told you, you’re being transferred directly into the custody of the Curtises and Miss Rockbell, despite my belief you’d be better served in the stockade for a number of months, until you completely dried out.” 

Curiosity prompted Ed to ask, “So, why aren’t you letting me stay in jail?”

“Because, Edward, once upon a time, you were indeed a hero. I can’t help but believe, somewhere deep inside, some part of the young man I respected remains.” His dark eyes slotting, Mustang added, “I hope you don’t prove me wrong.” 

X X X

Mr. Mustang and Miss Riza escorted Ed to the platform while Mr. Curtis bought tickets for them all. Winry took the time to study Ed as he hobbled toward them. Washed up and in clean clothes, he didn’t look quite as bad as he had in the jail cell, though he still didn’t look good. The police had probably taken him down hard, from the bruises she could see. There were others under his clothes – she’d made note of them when he’d been showering. The cast on his arm needed to be replaced, nearly in as bad shape as the loaner leg she’d given him – was it only yesterday? Winry sighed, passing her fingers over her brow. Just how could they get through to him? Would her idea work, or would it backfire? 

“Please don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts, Miss Rockbell,” Mr. Mustang said as they approached. 

Winry stiffened her spine, clenching her fists at the implications. “No,” she said, determined to see this through. Turning her attention to Ed, she realized one of the bruises came from when she’d hit him in the shower earlier. “Absolutely not.” She jerked her chin at Ed. “You’re coming with me. Us,” she amended, glancing sideways at Izumi. 

“Back to Rush Valley?” Ed nearly drawled the question. 

Izumi ignored him, directing her statement to Mr. Mustang. “We’ll take it from here, Brigadier General.”

“I’m sure you will, Mrs. Curtis.” Mr. Mustang laid his hand on Edward’s shoulder, tightening his grip when Ed stiffened and tried to sidle sideways. “Fullmetal, you are currently on an extended leave. If you fail to cooperate with the Curtises and Miss Rockbell, you will be brought back to Central City in stocks and you will find yourself in the brig as I would actually prefer you to be.” 

Ed’s lip curled. “Fine,” he growled, but there was no heat in it. Winry thought he was going through the motions, rather than feeling anything – not the first time she’d considered it. “So.” He gave Winry a belligerent look. “Rush Valley and the hyenas?” 

“No,” Winry found herself saying. “Somewhere else. There’s someone who wants to see you.”

The blink Ed gave her let her know just how much she’d surprised him. 

X X X


	19. One Year, Six and a Half Months (Part Six)

“Risembool Station, arriving at Risembool Station in twenty minutes.” 

Edward sat stiffly on the bench seat, his eyes darkening. “We’re going to Risembool.” He’d kind of expected it, but saying it out loud made it real. Before then, realizing they were on an east-bound route, rather than a train heading south, he’d wondered just what Winry and Izumi had planned. Now he knew for sure whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be good. 

“Yes,” Winry told him. She sat next to him, her fists resting on her thighs. Tension made her stiff, and the set of her jaw told Ed he’d better not argue. He didn’t even glance at the Curtises, knowing they’d back Winry up in whatever her crazy plan might be. 

Winry’s stress communicated itself to Ed, making his stomach clench and twist. She was one of the bravest people he knew, but now, she chewed on her lip, obviously thinking hard on whatever she wanted to happen next. He had to look away from her, staring out the train car window at the too-bright day. The sun shone over Risembool, illuminating green fields, and white and grey sheep. Ed closed his eyes against the brilliant light. How could Winry have sold the old house? Her explanation made sense, what he remembered of it, but still. The Rockbell house was _home_. Slouching down in the seat, Ed rolled his tongue around his dry mouth, wishing he had something to drink. Whiskey would be good. It might dull the need building up in his system. 

“There’s nothing in Risembool,” he said, surprising himself. “Why are we here?” Winry’s brittle smile told him whatever it was, she wasn’t expecting anything good out of it. “Winry. Who wants to see me here?” A thread of fear wormed its way through him. 

She shot him a look. “Who do you think?” 

Gritting his teeth, Ed wondered if he could refuse to get off the train. No, one of the Curtises would manhandle him if he balked. Considering where Winry had brought him – there could only be one place in Risembool she’d want him to visit, after all – going there bruised up would be…Edward closed his eyes at the thought. “You’re taking me to see Mom.” 

Winry nodded, her hands clenching even more tightly. 

Edward clamped his mouth shut on the swear words wanting to spill out. No matter what he said, Winry would make sure he went to his mother’s grave. _Fuck._

X X X

People recognized them, of course. Stationmaster Coyle, looking positively ancient, brightened at the sight of them coming off the train car. “Miss Winry!” he said, offering her his hand. She clasped it in both of hers as he beamed. “It’s so good to see you, dear.” Glancing past her, he widened his eyes at the sight of Ed. “Edward Elric! I didn’t expect to see you around here. You’re both a sight for sore eyes.” 

Ed winced in response, but let the man clap him on the shoulder and shake his hand. “Nice to see you,” he mumbled, though from the way his head lowered, he meant anything but. 

Mr. Coyle ignored Ed’s demeanor to peer at the Curtises. “Didn’t you come through here once before?”

“Some years past,” Izumi said, nodding. “We’re here at Winry’s request.”

He focused his attention on her again. “Oh? Miss Winry? Are you thinking of moving back to Risembool?” His mustache twitched in excitement. “We sure could use another automail engineer. It’s not the same since Pinako passed and you moved away.” 

Winry sighed inwardly. She didn’t want to get his hopes up, nor for him to start any rumors. “We’re just here for a visit, Mr. Coyle. We’re here,” she glanced at Ed, still with his head down, “to pay our respects.” 

“Ah.” His shoulders slumped a bit at her answer, but he rallied enough to fix another smile on his face. “Well, it’s good to see you, anyway. Will you be leaving on the next train out? Do you want me to store your bags here?” 

“We’re traveling light,” Izumi told him. “An impromptu trip. But if you could show Sig and me where the best place to get lunch might be, we’d appreciate it.” 

“Oh, of course.” 

Mr. Coyle led them toward the end of the platform while Winry turned to Edward. “Are you ready?” she asked, feeling her smile fade. 

Ed clenched his jaw. She half-expected him to start swearing. Instead, he sighed. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The trek to the cemetery would take some time. The leg she’d loaned to Ed wasn’t really designed for hiking, and the damage he’d done to it made it less maneuverable. Winry walked beside him, her hands clasped behind her back. If he wanted her help, he could ask; she wasn’t offering this time. A part of her was surprised he wasn’t fighting her idea, that he kept stumping along next to her. 

A few farmers and shepherds recognized them as they made their way to the cemetery. Mrs. Culbertson told them to wait a few minutes so she could give them some flowers to take to the graves. Nellie spotted them and mentioned her dog had a litter of puppies, did they want to see them? Better yet, did Winry want one of the pups? 

“No,” Winry said firmly, though she wanted to say ‘yes’. She missed Den, even after these years without her. “We’re traveling. I couldn’t take a puppy with me.” She ignored the look Edward shot her. “But thanks. If I could.” Winry waved a farewell and caught up to Ed. He gave her another look. “No puppy.”

“You want one.” 

“Not right now.” Trying not to think that he’d read her, with all this time between them, Winry pointed at the road ahead of them, in the direction of the cemetery. “We have somewhere to be.” 

Edward shrugged, and started hobbling along again, the bundled flowers resting on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything more, his head lowered. Winry wondered what was running through his head. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

The archway to the cemetery gleamed in the sunlight. Ed hesitated outside it, making Winry glance sideways at him. His larynx bobbed and he closed his eyes for a few seconds. “You can wait for me here.” 

“No.” Winry surprised herself by how harsh the word came out. “No, we’re going together.” 

With a huff, Ed toddled along. The long grass gave him some trouble, but he persevered. Winry followed close behind, tightening her grip on the stems of the flowers she carried. Her head ached from how tightly she clenched her jaw, but she couldn’t seem to loosen it. Edward stopped in front of his mother’s tombstone, reaching over to lay the tips of his flesh fingers on the upper curve of it. The cast covering his forearm still needed to be replaced Winry reminded herself as she stopped beside Ed. He squatted awkwardly, laying the flowers on his mother’s grave. Not looking at Winry, he asked, “What are we doing here?”

Her answer came out, thin and reedy, “You’re going to talk to your mom.”

Ed shot her a disbelieving look. “The hell?”

Turning to face him, Winry repeated, “You’re going to talk to your mom, Ed, and you’re going to tell her.” She faltered, needing to take a breath. “You’re going to tell her what happened to Al.” Ed bridled, his expression turning fierce and hard. Winry went on steadily, meeting his eyes. “You’re going to tell her what you’ve been doing with yourself since we buried Al. And you’re going to tell her why you’re trying to h-hurt yourself.” She stumbled over the word, barely keeping from saying ‘kill’ instead, but she wouldn’t push him that far. Not yet, at least. 

“I am not,” Edward snapped. 

“You are going to talk to her!” 

Edward pointed. “That’s a _stone._ Mom isn’t _there_.” He took a step nearer to Winry, spitting the words out through his clenched teeth. “She’s just as gone as Al is!”

“That’s right, Al’s gone.” Winry didn’t back away, leaning into Edward’s space. “And you’re alive! Even though you keep trying to destroy yourself, you keep living. Why is that, Ed? Is it because, deep down,” she slapped her hand on his chest, hard enough to make him wince from the sting against his bruised ribs. “Deep down, you want to live? You want someone to haul you back from the edge? You want to make your mom and your dad and Al proud of you? Admit it, Ed!”

His heart thundered under her hand. Ed ground his teeth, his automail hand fisting. The hydraulics whined from the strain he put on them. Spittle struck her face as he asked, “Why the fuck do you even care, Winry?” 

“Because you and me, we’re all each other has left!” Her fingers clenched in his shirt, jerking him even closer. “Granny’s dead, and Al, and our parents! That’s it, there’s just us! And I’m not going to let you die, you idiot! No matter how much you think you want to follow Al and your mom into the grave, I’m not going to let you! Because I know there’s still a part of you that wants to live.”

“What’re you gonna do, Winry?” Edward shouted in her face. “Huh? Are you gonna babysit me the rest of my life? You and Teacher? You’re better than that! You have customers who need you, and Elicia and Gracia.” He grabbed her shoulder, giving her a shake. His automail fingers dug into her skin hard enough to bruise. “I don’t need your help.” He sneered. “I don’t want it! Give your charity to the little thief or someone else. I don’t fucking want it! Get that through your thick gear head skull!” Ed shoved her hard enough to break her grip on his shirt, throwing her back a few paces. 

Winry snorted, snatching hold of the front of Ed’s shirt again. “You need to get it through your stupid skull, Ed! I’m not giving up on you!” 

“Then you’re a fucking idiot.” He tried to brush her hands off, grunting when she didn’t let go. “Winry!” Grabbing her hand in his automail, he squeezed. 

“A-ah!” The bones in her fingers ground together under the pressure Ed put on them. Balling up her free hand, Winry punched him in the chest. “What’re you doing?” She hit him again when his grip tightened. “Ed!” He didn’t release her hand, squeezing tighter. “Edward!” She slapped him, the blow opening a cut on his mouth, sending blood flying.

Something changed in Ed’s eyes and he let her go, stumbling back away from her, tripping over his mother’s tombstone. Winry nursed her aching fingers against her chest, watching him, wondering if he’d leap up and punch her. Instead, Edward rolled sideways, landing on Auntie Trisha’s grave. He lay on his side, facing away from her. Rubbing her fingers, Winry cautiously flexed them. Pain shot through the joints, making tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back, not about to let Edward know he’d given her that much pain. 

“Get up.” The words came out thick and sticky, worse than Winry expected. Edward didn’t move, didn’t answer. Didn’t react. Tensing, she considered plans and discarded them. “Get up!” If she reached down over his shoulder, he could grab her, maybe bite her hand. If she didn’t do anything, he won. Winry knew she couldn’t afford to let him win. Not yet. “Edward Elric, get up.” Her voice trembled, but she firmed it enough to add, “If you don’t, you won’t like how I’ll make you.” 

He sighed, dropping onto his back. Not opening his eyes, he rolled his head back and forth against the flowers, making the paper wrapper rustle. “What are you going to do, Winry? Punish me?” 

Winry blinked, wondering at the tone she’d heard in his voice. Was he…okay with that? Shuddering as if a cold wind crawled up her spine, she twisted her fingers together. “Ed.” Testing his name in her mouth, Winry thought about what to say next. What she should actually do. If Al was here, he’d yell at Ed and start a fight; they’d whale on each other for a while, and it’d be better. But Al wasn’t here. It was just her, and Ed, and all the memories between them. “Ed.” Squatting down, Winry folded her arms on her knees. “Please, talk to me.” 

His jaw flexed while she waited. He flung his automail arm over his closed eyes. Hiding, maybe. In the past, he hadn’t always looked at her when telling her important things. But blocking his eyes from view also gave him a better chance of lying. 

When he didn’t speak, she let out a huff, almost relieved he hadn’t opened his mouth. “All right, if you won’t talk, I will.” Winry lifted his head off the flowers over his protest, letting go and hearing the satisfying thud of his skull hitting the ground. Edward swore, half-rising up on his elbows in preparation to yell at her. Winry ignored him, setting the flowers against Auntie Trisha’s stone. Settling onto her knees, she laid her palm against the stone, inhaling deeply as she considered what she wanted to say. “Auntie Trisha, I brought Ed with me this time. I’m guessing it’s been a while since he’s been here. I told you about Al dying. It’s been over a year and a half, Auntie. I still miss him. I wish he was here with us.” Folding her hands in her lap, Winry bowed her head, staring at her thumbs. “It’s been really hard, Auntie. I’ve been doing all right, I guess. But Ed.” 

“Shut up,” he growled. 

Winry ignored him. There’d been no real heat to his words. “Maybe Ed should tell you what you need to know.” 

Edward snarled like a dog, reminding her of the State Alchemists’ nickname. “I’m not talking about this!”

“Because you’re ashamed to bring it up before your mom’s grave?” 

Scrambling to his feet, Edward loomed over her. “Shut up, Winry!” 

“You wanted to bring Scar here, didn’t you? To my parents’ graves, to make him apologize.” She didn’t flinch back, not about to give Ed the satisfaction.

“It’s not the same thing! I don’t – don’t have anything to apologize for!” he roared, stabbing a finger at her. 

“Al’s death?” Winry yelled back at him. 

“It wasn’t my fault!” Ed screamed. “He stepped between those men!”

“Could you have held him back?” Winry kept pushing. 

His mouth flopped open at the question, closing again before he spoke. “I was – I wasn’t close enough.” He shook his head, messy bangs shielding his face. Memories darkened his eyes. “I was talking…the fight started, Al was closer. He,” Ed’s larynx bobbed. “He tried to stop it. Walked into that fucking knife fight and…there was so much blood.” Tremors ran through his body, hard enough to make his teeth chatter. “I tried…wanted…damn it! Why did he do it? He was fucking smarter than that!” Dropping to his knees, Ed fisted his automail. He pounded the ground, tearing grass. “He was better than that!” He threw back his head and cried, “He was my little brother, and I couldn’t save him! He shouldn’t have died! I pr-promised I’d get him back home and I couldn’t!” His throat moved as Edward slumped forward, his chin landing on his chest. When he spoke, it was so low, Winry could barely hear him. “…I promised I’d get him back to you.” 

She bit back her own howl, her heart sinking in her chest. Almost without realizing she’d moved, Winry stretched her hand out to Ed, catching hold of his sleeve and tugging. With a soft moan, Edward collapsed against her and buried his wet face against her thighs. Her throat too clogged to speak, Winry curled over him, soaking the back of his shirt with her tears as he cried. 

X X X

The food in the inn was good fare, though nothing spectacular, not like some of the meals they’d had in the past. Izumi remembered meals around their table with the boys. The funny, little, out-of-the-way cafes and restaurants they’d found during their travels. The place where they’d sat and had tea with the boys’ father, Van Hohenheim. Risembool food was well-designed for a farming community; hearty, thick, and rich with calories. By the time they finished eating, Izumi was sure she wouldn’t want another meal until tomorrow. 

“Should we order something for Ed and Winry?” Sig asked, squinting at the blackboard with the day’s specials laboriously printed on it. 

“I don’t know.” Izumi didn’t look toward the door. It had been a few hours since Winry had led Edward away, and Winry hadn’t said how long they’d be gone. It would take as long as it took, and if they missed the train, then they’d get rooms somewhere, or sleep on the platform. Izumi thought it wouldn’t be a hardship to find rooms. People in small towns were always willing to put up strangers for a little extra coin, and here, Winry and Edward were well-known. Someone would be happy to take them in, if necessary. Though she wasn’t sure how well that would go. Ed’s…problems…might be more than anyone would want to deal with. Maybe they could stay in a barn? Without anyone knowing?

“You’re thinking awfully hard,” Sig said, breaking into her thoughts.

“Sorry, honey. Just considering.” Izumi propped her elbow on the table top, leaning her chin in her palm. “If we’re going to be here overnight, we should make some preparations, shouldn’t we?”

“Do you think we will be?”

Nodding toward the clock over the doorway, Izumi said, “The train should arrive in another forty-five minutes. I don’t know how long it takes to walk back from the cemetery, but the kids have been gone a while.” Kids. She almost laughed at the thought of the pair actually being children. 

“If we miss the train, we’ll make arrangements.” Sig gestured with his mug of beer. “The kids know enough people. They’ll help us find a room somewhere.” 

She gave him a lopsided smile. “That’s what I thought, too, but it’d be nice to know whether we should be preparing for a layover, or if we’ll be getting on the train.” 

“We won’t know until we know,” Sig said, pragmatic. 

Izumi widened her smile. “You’re right, sweetie.” It didn’t stop her from wondering where the kids were, or if they needed her help. Winry was a strong girl, but even strong girls sometimes had to have someone pick them back up again, and with Ed acting the way he had been, this little experiment of Winry’s might backfire. 

“Do you want to go to the cemetery?” Sig read her all too well.

“No.” Izumi did glance at the door this time, through the windows and out into the street. The sun started to set, staining everything outside with orange and gold. Soon, it’d turn to dusk, but probably not before the train arrived. Turning back to Sig, Izumi said, “We’ll give them a little more time.”

X X X

Edward bit his tongue, trying to relieve the pain pounding through his head by adding to it elsewhere. He didn’t want to throw up, but his stomach rolled. “Winry,” he croaked, shoving at her legs, trying to push himself away from her. 

“What is it?” She uncurled her body, but still tilted too close. 

Twisting away, Ed managed to get onto his hands and knees before he started heaving. His stomach seemed to be turning itself inside out. He spat a few times, locking his elbows to keep from falling. His vomit was a peculiar yellow-green and stank. He didn’t want to be anywhere near it. 

“Oh, Ed.” He realized Winry’s hand rested on his back, her other arm locked under his chest, clutching his shoulder. Supporting him. “Come on, back up.” No nonsense, no cajoling, still, the sound of her voice relaxed everything coiled up inside him, and long hours spent under her tutelage when he was learning to use his automail made him follow her instructions automatically. “Sit down.” Winry helped him arrange his limbs, giving him her shoulder to lean against. It was easier to let her do what she wanted. Edward wasn’t going to fight her, not now. Not with his tears smearing the dress over her thighs. 

He didn’t want to lean on her, but his body slumped into her shoulder anyway. Panting shallowly through his mouth, he wiped his face with his sleeve, nearly smacking himself with his cast. Everything ached, from his teeth sockets down to his toenails, his head pounding and his stomach coiling. An awful taste, like burning tires, lingered in his mouth, and spitting it out nearly cost him his balance.

“Easy,” Winry murmured, and Edward wondered how many times she’d said it. He could just recall her voice while he sicked up nothing, soothing even though he had no idea what words she’d spoken. Josie might’ve helped him up after he’d vomited, or she might’ve thrown a rag at him to have him clean it up. She would’ve offered him something afterward, a puff of the pipe or a drink, and then pulled him into her embrace once she was sure he wasn’t going to throw up again. Ed didn’t want to think of Josie. He didn’t want to think about anything, but his own words pulsed through his head in time with his heartbeat. 

“You’re an idiot, Brother.” 

He pried open an eyelid, trying to find Al. He already knew how his little brother would look, with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Fighting stance, like back on the train, when he’d last appeared to Ed. “Not gonna fight you,” he muttered. Not in front of Winry. 

“I hope that means you agree with me, Ed.” Al’s voice sounded closer, almost next to his ear. Like he was sitting on Ed’s other side. “Because you really are an idiot.” 

A part of Edward wanted to agree, but his stubbornness won out. He bit his tongue to keep from arguing. A cool hand moved over his forehead, smoothing his hair, andhe turned into the caress. Mom, he thought, but caught a faint, metallic tinge to the scent. Not Mom, Winry. 

“How long are you going to make her wait, Ed?” Al asked. 

Make who wait? Mom? He turned his gaze to the tombstone. The stark white limestone struck his eyes like a blow, the way the sunlight reflected off it. Inhaling, Ed thought he caught a whiff of decay. His stomach knotted tighter. 

“The dead don’t wait,” Al said, “only the living.”

Ed wished his brother would just shut up. Armstrong was in his skull, swinging a sledgehammer to make his head ring. Each strike reverberated, juddering along his joints and nerves and lingering in his gut and behind his eyes and in his broken bones. Edward thought his stomach flipped in preparation of wringing itself out again, but he burped instead. It stung his nostrils. 

Finally, Al’s words sunk in. Turning them over in his head, Edward slurred out, “Y’re not waitin’?” When Al didn’t answer, he opened his eyes, promptly closing them again. When had it gotten so cold? Weren’t they in a desert? His mouth felt like it. No, Winry never went to the desert with them. Briggs, they must be in Briggs. 

“What, Ed?” Winry asked, but her voice was blown away in an icy breeze.

“Such an idiot,” Al said, and Edward just caught sight of him walking away, vanishing into the blizzard’s snow fall.

X X X


	20. One Year, Six and a Half Months (Part Seven)

“Nothing ever happens in Risembool,” Bruce groused, kicking a rock ahead of him along the dirt road. It skittered down the center of the road for a few meters before flipping off into the grass. 

“Ow! Watch it, Bruce!” Susan gave him a nasty look over her shoulder. Raising her leg, she rubbed her calf, even though Bruce hadn’t kicked the rock anywhere near her. Next to him, Len shrank up. “And things do happen here.”

“A bear steals someone’s sheep once a year. There’s a wolf hunt once a year. The river floods once a year.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Somebody has a baby or two.” He shuddered. Babies were gross, the way they spit up and drooled from both ends, and the first and only time he saw and smelled what was in a diaper, he was glad his Mom and Dad didn’t have any other kids younger than him. Len was old enough to not need diapers, thankfully. “We go to school and come home and work in the gardens or with the sheep. There’s the sheep-shearing festival.” All right, that was kind of fun, but his Da said he was too young to go hunting the bears or the wolves. And he was ten! That was plenty old enough.

“There’s nothing wrong any of that,” Susan said, tilting her nose in the air. 

Bruce mocked her behind her back, earning a giggle from Len. The youngest of their trio today, he was only five, but he was really smart. Bruce didn’t mind Len hanging out with him most of the time. Sometimes, he was a baby, though, sniffling and whining. 

“Hey.” Susan stopped in the middle of the road, shading her eyes.

Ignoring her, Bruce slouched on. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking for another rock to kick. He didn’t like where they were on the road. 

“Bruce!” Len hissed, and that made him turn back.

Len and Susan stood in front of the cemetery gate, Susan looking through it up to the hill. Two people huddled together. Bruce curled his lip, glad his hands were in his pockets. No one could see them shake there. “People are always weird in the graveyard.” He didn’t look any closer, not wanting to see. His aunt had thrown herself on his uncle’s grave once and wailed so loud, he’d thought his ears would burst. The gate always reminded him of it. He didn’t want to stand here, and look at those people, whoever they were.

“I think they’re in trouble!” Susan took a step closer to the gate, chewing her lip. 

“They’re grown-ups!” Bruce flapped his hand in disgust. Being a grown-up meant you didn’t have any troubles. You bossed your kids around and complained about bears and wolves killing the sheep. His dad and mom did all the time.

Len gave him the ‘little kid about to cry’ look. “I tink dey need hep.” 

“Me, too,” Susan said, not saying anything about how Len talked. He did that sometimes, when he got upset. “You don’t have to go with us, Bruce!” She walked through the gate, Len following her like he was tied to Susan by a string. 

Bruce whined, kicking the ground hard enough to stub his toe. He danced around for a few seconds. “I’m going!” he shouted at Susan and Len, and limped past the gateway. He glanced over his shoulder and groaned. Susan and Len were already halfway up the hill. “Oh, geeze!” He turned in a full circle, hoping someone else might be there, someone who could go into the cemetery. No one was in sight. Bruce couldn’t even hear any dogs or sheep, not even a far-ff train whistle. “Fine!” Stiffening his shoulders, he stalked under the gateway arch, trying not to shiver at the cold shadow it threw on his back. He stomped up the hill as fast as he could to catch up to Susan and Len.

As they climbed, the woman sat up, brushing back her hair. Bruce noticed her eyes were red, like she’d been crying, but he couldn’t see any tear tracks on her cheeks. The look she gave them made him think she’d never seen kids before, but that couldn’t be right. Then she smiled, and Bruce thought, maybe, if she was happy, she’d be as pretty as his Mom. “Hi,” she said softly, keeping a hand on the man’s shoulder. He leaned against her, shaking hard enough his teeth chattered, his eyes clenched shut. He was sweating, even though it wasn’t a hot day. 

Bruce shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wanting to walk away from this. Susan walked closer, taking a handful of her dress and squatting next to them. “Are you okay?” she asked the lady.

“Ah…no.” She looked at the man, then back at all of them. “He’s sick.” When she passed her hand over the man’s hair, Bruce thought of his Mom and the way she petted his hair when he wasn’t feeling good. “And he can’t walk right now.” The man grunted, and the lady turned to him, tilting her head to look in his face. “Are you going to be sick?”

“N-no,” he muttered, folding his arms tighter. Bruce noticed one of them had a cast on it. “C-cold.”

“That’s shock, Ed.” The lady frowned, but put her arms around him, pulling him closer. “We need help, kids. He needs someplace to get warm, where I can take care of him.” 

“Bruce’s house is the closest,” Susan said, and Bruce wanted to hit her.

The lady searched his face. “Do you have a telephone?”

“Of course!” What kind of stupid question was that?

“Is there someone home right now, or are your parents out in the fields?” 

She knew too much, Bruce thought, opening his mouth to answer her, but Len spoke up first, taking his finger out of his mouth. “My Da’s home.” 

The lady smiled at Len, staring at him for a few seconds, her head cocking to the side like a rooster looking at a worm. “Is your Dad Pitt Renbak?”

Bruce gaped. How did she know?

Len nodded, sticking his finger back in his mouth. 

“He’s an old friend of ours,” the lady said. “You look a lot like him.” 

Susan grabbed Bruce’s arm, giving it a shake. “Go tell your Mom to call Len’s Dad!” she said, bossy as always.

“If someone has a wagon, that’d be the best way to move Ed.” The lady smiled again, but she looked worried this time. “Can you do that, Bruce? Ask your Mom about a wagon and have her call Mr. Renbak?” 

“Yeah,” he said, drawing the word out. He looked at the man now, leaning sideways. He’d never seen anyone look that sick, except that one time Da got drunk and Mom yelled at him for three days. “What’s wrong with him?”

The lady ignored his question, just like a grown-up. “Have your Mom tell Mr. Renbak it’s Ed and Winry who need his help, all right? Can you remember that? Ed and Winry?” 

“Ed and Winry,” Bruce repeated, rolling his eyes. 

“Thank you, Bruce.” She smiled again, and this time, his stomach made a weird flip-flop inside his belly. He didn’t like that smile. It looked like she was trying to keep from crying. 

“Right. I’ll go tell Mom!” He spun on his heel and ran away from the lady. Hitting the road, Bruce cut across it to climb over the stone fence across from the cemetery. It’d be faster to run through the field than follow the road to his house, and he wanted to get as far away from the lady as he could.

X X X

The bell in the town square rang four times, the peal lingering in the air afterward. Izumi rubbed her chin, glancing down the street in front of the train station. Stationmaster Coyle had told them the train was on time, and would arrive at four-thirty. That didn’t leave a lot of time for Edward and Winry to return, especially with the way Ed hobbled along on that wooden prosthetic. 

“Do you think we should go looking for them?” Sig asked the question she’d been wondering. 

Izumi tilted her head to meet his dark eyes. “I think we should.” They’d been gone for a long time now, a lot longer than she’d expected them to be gone. If Ed had done something stupid, well, Winry had seemed like she could have handled him. Still, it never hurt to take precautions.

Seeing her nod, Sig said, “I’ll tell the stationmaster not to hold the train, and ask for directions to the cemetery.” 

“Thanks, honey,” Izumi said, studying the road. No dust clouds, nothing to indicate anyone moving on it, not even a flock of sheep. The kids should’ve been back by now, surely. “Ed can be so stupid,” she muttered, cracking her knuckles loud enough to startle a black bird, sitting on the railing. It cawed as it flew away. She tracked it until it landed on a building farther down the block, then went back to her thoughts of her one-time apprentice. How many stupid things had Ed done in the past two weeks? Worse, the past couple of days? Shaking her head, Izumi tried to banish both her worry and her anger, but it was hard to do with Edward involved.

“Okay, honey.” Sig startled her as always with how softly he moved. She hadn’t even felt the vibration in the wooden platform beneath her feet. “I know the way to the cemetery.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “You could wait here, if you want.” 

No.” Izumi shook her head for emphasis as she stood up, “I have to know what that idiot’s done now.” Tamping down her worry, she let a hint of her irritation show. “We were supposed to be back home by now.” 

“Mason can handle the shop,” Sig said as he walked down the platform risers and onto the dirt road. He turned east, and Izumi joined him.

She waved her hand. “I’m not worried about the shop. I’m worried about his crush on that girl, Melanie Goodenow.” 

Sig’s short laugh could easily be mistaken for a grunt. “Oh, she’ll handle him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Izumi said darkly as they made their way out Risembool.

X X X 

Convincing Joan Piper he needed her dog cart was only half the battle. Pitt had forgotten how annoying ponies could be. The shaggy beast didn’t want to move above a slow walk, no matter how much Pitt slapped the reins on its back. Finally, he stopped the pony, keeping hold of it while he cut a willow switch from a nearby tree. Climbing back into the cart, he made the whip whistle through the air. The pony promptly started trotting along, its tail tucked and ears laid back. 

“So you only do work under threats. Good to know,” Pitt told the pony. Talking to it kept him from thinking too much about what might be happening at the cemetery. Mrs. Lancaster’s telephone call had startled him, as unexpected as it was. He hadn’t even known Ed and Winry were in Risembool. To hear that Ed was sick and needed help? He’d rushed out the door, leaving behind a hastily-scribbled note to Trude, his wife, letting her know that there’d likely be an overnight patient. 

The pony clip-clopped its way toward the cemetery, wanting to turn down the road to take them to the Mihilak place. It snorted when Pitt kept it heading straight. The hill of the cemetery came into sight first, with the white limestone markers rising out of the green ground like a giant’s lost teeth. Pitt slowed the pony with a soft, “Whoa,” pulling back on the reins, then hopping out of the cart when it stopped rolling forward. He’d lead the little animal the rest of the way, not trusting his driving, nor the pony in the graveyard. He could see Len and Susan, standing on the hill next to a pair of people. “C’mon, boy.” Pitt made a kissing sound to encourage the reluctant pony. Fortunately, it seemed to remember he had a whip, and followed him with a sigh rather than planting its hooves in the roadway. 

“Da!” Len scrambled down the hill to meet him, startling the pony enough to make it toss its head and stamp.

“Easy, son.” Pitt ruffled Len’s sun-bleached hair. “Have you been waiting here all this time?” 

Nodding, Len grunted out an, “Uh huh,” that would earn him a stern look from his mother had she been there. “Miss Winry says she knows you!”

“She does.” Pitt tugged the pony along behind him, both of them climbing the hill. He’d need to remember to set the brake when they reached the top. All he needed was for the car to roll backward over someone’s gravestone. “Hi, Winry.” He included Susan in his smiled greeting before setting the brake and squatting on the ground in front of Ed. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“He’s sick,” Len said helpfully before sticking his finger in his mouth.

“Real sick,” Susan agreed.

“Thanks,” Pitt told them, “but maybe Miss Winry or Mr. Edward should tell me.” From this close, he could see sweat stains on Ed’s shirt, making a line down his back and circles under his pits. Sweat matted his hair, but he shivered, huddled against Winry. She looked exhausted, with circles under her reddened eyes and the dry skin of a woman who’d been running herself ragged. “So?” 

“He’s in shock,” Winry said. The quick jerk of her eyes toward the kids let Pitt know she didn’t want to say any more in their hearing. 

Pitt nodded his understand. “Ed?” He was cautious about touching his childhood friend’s shoulder. He knew from scuttlebutt Ed and Al had been involved in something big a few years back, then Al died two years ago. He knew something about a failed transmutation, something that had put Alphonse in a suit of armor and cost Edward his arm and his leg, but no more than most people in Risembool did. It wasn’t a community that asked a lot of questions of its own. Instead, Risembool accepted, worked with, and moved on from tragedies and curiosities. Stories shared were about accomplishments, or humorous tales, or news. “Ed, I want to take you to my house, where you can get warm.” 

Edward raised his head, blinking at Pitt. His eyes were red, too, and his bangs stuck to his face from the perspiration rolling off it. “K-k-kay,” he stuttered out.

“Can you walk?” 

Ed grunted in response. Winry shook her head minutely. “We’ll help you, Ed.” She already had her arm around his back. As she adjusted herself to stand, Pitt noticed the cast on Ed’s left arm; realized what he’d mistaken for a shoe was the foot of a clumsy wooden prosthesis. 

Biting back his questions, Pitt said, “Susan, hold the pony. Don’t let him move around. Len, you step back out of the way.” Once he was sure the kids were situated, Pitt slipped under Ed’s automail arm. He wrinkled his nose. Ed reeked. “Winry, are you ready? Ed?” Winry nodded. Ed didn’t say anything, only tightened his mouth. “If you have to throw up, warn us, Ed, okay?” Pitt said in his best ‘daddy’ voice. The order made Len giggle.

“Right,” Ed grumbled. He managed to get his legs under him, but needed help walking. The prosthesis gave him trouble. Pitt decided to hold his questions as to what happened to his automail until they were back at the house. He and Winry manhandled Ed into the cart, and Winry shook out the old blanket in the back of it before laying it over Ed. He grabbed it with his automail hand, pulling the stinking cover up to his chin.

“Kids, why don’t you run along now,” Pitt said, taking the reins back from Susan. “Go to Bruce’s house. Len, I’ll call you to come home, all right?” He gave Susan a meaningful look.

She nodded, reaching for Len’s hand. “C’mon, we need to go tell Bruce what happened.” 

“I’ll see you later, son,” Pitt called as Susan led Len away. Once the kids were moving steadily, he turned back to see Winry had already climbed into the back of the cart with Ed. She half-lifted Ed up so he could rest against her. 

“Thanks, Pitt,” she said, meeting his eyes. 

He shoved the brake free. “Any time, Winry.” Chirruping to the pony, he led it and the cart out of the cemetery, trying not to think too hard about why Ed was so sick. Somehow, it seemed like old times, and the kind he really didn’t want to relive. “Come on, you little beast. Let’s go home.”

X X X


	21. Introspection

**Chapter 24** – _Introspection_

The train clacked along the rails, the car he rode in swaying slightly. Better, Roy knew, than riding in a horse cart. Even the hard wooden benches were better than the bumps and jolts his butt remembered riding in a wagon behind a horse. 

“Sir?” 

He blinked, turning slightly to meet Hawkeye’s gaze. “Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?” 

“I am going to the café car. Would you like me to bring you something back?” 

Roy crinkled his forehead at the question. Did he want anything? He wasn’t hungry. “I’d like a cup of tea, Lieutenant. That would be fine.” 

“Yes, sir.” She rose from her seat across from him, nodding at Roy prior to walking along the aisle and disappearing out the door. Roy watched after her, his stare turned toward the doorway long after Hawkeye went through it. When he realized, he turned his attention to the window, and the countryside passing by. Outside the train, the day was sunny. Golden light bathed the land. Roy marveled at it, the way the world kept turning without care for the people living on it. 

Take, for instance, the people in this train car with him. Who knew what tragedies or comedies played out amongst them? Were any traveling to a funeral, or a wedding? Could some be on honeymoons? Farmers, looking to improve their crops or herds? It had been some years since Roy had played the guessing game Auntie Chris had taught him, a game which taught him how to read people, from their clothes and their calluses, the lines on their faces, the dirt on their shoes and oil on their sleeves. He guessed at a couple of men, merchants, seeking to sell their wares, and a middle-aged couple, who acted like a pair of teenagers, deciding they had to be recently married. A young woman sitting by herself, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, could be either on her way to her family or away from them, for an apprenticeship or schooling. Roy took the time to study her face, seeing a glaze of hope on it, and decided wherever she journeyed, it was for something she looked forward to. 

Shifting his position, Roy wriggled to relieve some of the pressure on his back. Long training kept him from slumping against the window, whether he wore in Amestris blues or not. He looked out the window again, not really seeing the land they traveled through. Instead, he remembered Edward as he last saw the younger man. Arguing. Determined to fight his way out of the predicament he’d found himself in, specifically, the jail and being returned to the care of Miss Rockbell and the Curtises. 

He understood what had happened to Edward. He’d been through the same situation with Hughes’s death. Thrown himself into tracking down Hughes’s killer, even though he remembered, mostly, there were other things he needed to do – like survive whatever plans Fuhrer Bradley had for his life as a possible sacrifice. But Roy had lost himself confronting Envy, nearly for good. It had been difficult to rein himself in. Without the Lieutenant, Scar, and even Fullmetal’s assistance, he might have continued his wrathful ways. He could’ve destroyed the homunculis and lost his life to Hawkeye’s pistol, or possibly destroyed her and himself in his blind rage. 

Fullmetal losing himself to drugs, it made sense. He’d lived for his brother for so long. Alphonse’s death had thrown Edward for a loop, leaving him confused and alone. Those closest to him were lost in their own grief, unable or unwilling to help him. Roy knew Miss Rockbell had initially blamed Edward for his brother’s death, something that had to eat further away at Fullmetal’s shaky self-worth. But Edward had always been an excellent liar, and had convinced him, at least, nothing was amiss, that he was still making his way, moving forward. It took a few obvious stumbles, mistakes Fullmetal would’ve avoided in the past, to make Roy realize more was happening than just grief for the loss of Alphonse Elric. 

By then, Edward had found the very lovely vixen, Josephine Wagner, and it didn’t take long for her to dig her claws into him. Roy rested his elbow on the arm of his bench, leaning his chin onto his fist. He recalled his first introduction to Miss Wagner. He’d been surprised such a woman would be interested in Fullmetal, and had said something disparaging to Edward. Fullmetal had reacted in a familiar way – sneering, bragging, so pleased with himself for startling Roy. It was so very much like Fullmetal, Roy hadn’t realized what had been happening beneath the surface. Superficially, Edward managed to complete his duties, underneath, he shattered. Whether or not Miss Wagner had anything to do with it, Roy wasn’t sure. Still, it could be her influence which led Edward down the path to becoming an opium eater. 

“Sir, your tea.” 

He blinked at the offer of a cup, fragrant steam rising from the surface of the tea. Roy accepted it with a distracted, “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He sipped, the warmth flooding his mouth and nearly making him cough as it slid down his throat. “It’s very bracing,” he said, once he was sure he wouldn’t start coughing. 

“It is,” Hawkeye said, her own cup in hand. She had a tray with a sandwich that smelled better than Roy expected, and he almost wished he’d had her get him one, too. As if she could read his mind – and Roy wouldn’t put it past her abilities, some days, Hawkeye said, “You can have half of my sandwich, sir. I ordered a large one.” 

“Are you sure, Lieutenant?” He didn’t reach for the sandwich, even though Hawkeye did make the offer. 

“Of course, sir. I know when you last ate. You wouldn’t want to get to the office just to fall asleep at your desk, would you?”

The taunt nearly made him roll his eyes, but Roy refrained, smirking instead. “You know me too well, Lieutenant.” He waited for Hawkeye to choose her sandwich half before taking the other one. Mutton, thinly sliced – proof they were traveling through the east, if nothing else would show it – made up the bulk of the sandwich, though lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and hot peppers made it a tasty meal, if a bit smaller than his stomach wanted at the moment. 

“Were you thinking about Edward?” 

Hawkeye’s question intruded on his thoughts. Roy finished chewing his bite of sandwich, swallowing and washing his mouth with tea before answering. It gave him time to decide what to say, even though she had guessed correctly. “I was comparing his slide to my own. He helped me – as did you and Scar. I feel I have been remiss in my assistance.”

“You have done what you could, under the circumstances.” Hawkeye took a drink of her own tea before setting the cup back on the tray. “Edward is very good at hiding his pain. He always has been. His concern for others, that’s a different matter entirely.” 

“It doesn’t mean we should have – that I shouldn’t have been paying attention.” Roy raised his hand to stop Hawkeye before she could speak. “I know. I did have other concerns. And yes, I did notice, eventually, something was wrong. But there is the possibility I could have realized it earlier, if I hadn’t been giving Fullmetal _space_ to heal.” He had failed one of his men, someone he was supposed to protect. 

Hawkeye said firmly, “Sir, you cannot always take the blame.” 

“No, I suppose not.” Roy took another bite of the sandwich, chewing even though it tasted like ashes. _Like Ishval._ He continued to eat anyway. Hawkeye was right, he needed to keep up his strength, for whatever waited when they returned to Central. 

X X X

Josie wrapped her coat around herself. A shiver racked her body. She wanted to be inside, out of the cold, but wasn’t sure where to turn. 

Yesterday morning, the landlord threw her out of the apartment. He’d listened to her say Edward was coming back, that he’d pay for the rent the first two times. But without Edward actually being there, without the money coming in, he wasn’t going to let her stay. And he didn’t find her nearly attractive enough to sleep with her to give her an extension on the rent. She had nothing else to encourage him to let her stay, and wound up tossed out on her ass. 

Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue. Josie had been ordered to vacate premises in the past, but she’d always had a back-up, somewhere else she could go. Since she’d been with Edward, she hadn’t needed that sort of thing. He’d provided all the money. He’d taken care of her. And she’d let him, not squirreling away enough money to keep her safe now that he’d vanished. Not enough for the apartment. Barely enough to buy a drink at the corner bar where she’d met Ed originally. 

A thought came to her, a man’s voice over the telephone. How would First Lieutenant Storch find her, now that she no longer had the apartment? Josie remembered the bitterness in his voice when he’d talked about Winry Rockbell. Another recollection came to her, the other man accusing Storch of having another girlfriend on the line. She licked her lips, wondering if she could use Storch, not just to find Ed for her, but also to keep her out of the weather until Ed actually turned up. 

She still had the telephone number, after all. She’d called it rarely, but she had a head for some figures. And there was a telephone call box at the end of the street. Straightening her coat and smoothing her hair, Josie sauntered toward it. Appearances were everything, even if they were made by listening rather than sight. And she had to put herself together to be able to convince this man of anything, she knew it. A certain amount of dismay was fine, but she’d dangled enough men on the hook before to know what would actually catch them. A woman in need wasn’t always enough. 

Fortunately, she had a lot of wiles. Enough to land Storch, at least until Edward returned.

X X X

Winry couldn’t begin to think the last time she rode in a cart. It was easier to walk everywhere in Rush Valley, and, the few times she’d traveled anywhere else, she’d gone by train and either walked or rode in an automobile once she’d reached her destination. In the cart, every rut in the dirt road jolted itself up through the wheels to her spine, reminding her why she didn’t care for this mode of travel. Edward’s weight on her didn’t help matters. 

He lay against her, his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Each bump slammed him into her. Winry didn’t doubt she’d have a bruise on her collarbone from Edward’s skull ramming into it by the time this ride was over. Beneath the blanket, she could feel him shivering. From the tug at her clothes, his automail fingers clutched at her shirt. 

“We’ll be there soon.” Pitt’s voice broke in, and Winry stiffened at the sound of it, then relaxed again. “My house is set up to take care of emergencies.” 

Like Granny’s had been he didn’t say, and Winry was glad of it. Edward might’ve rallied enough to start complaining about her selling the house again. “Thanks, Pitt.” She managed a smile at him, though it was weak as the last snow with the spring sun shining on it.

Pitt didn’t seem to notice. “It’s no problem, Winry. I’m glad to see the two of you again.” How he made it sound sincere, she didn’t know. “Though I expected Ed to be in a little better shape.”

Against her neck, Edward barked out a laugh. Shaking off the blanket, he sat up, remembering before knocking himself in the head with the cast that he shouldn’t wipe his eyes. “Fuck.” 

“And you’re still the greatest conversationalist, too,” Pitt said cheerfully. 

Edward rallied enough to shoot a glare at him, though it turned into a grimace when the cart hit another rut. “Can’t you drive any better?”

Winry wondered what kind of effort he put into appearing normal. Well, as normal as he could be, shaking from shock. Then again, how long had Ed been able to keep people from realizing he was eating opium? 

Laughing, Pitt said, “This pony has a mind of its own.” His smile grew wicked as he added, “Kind of like you.” 

“Don’t compare me to a damned horse.” Edward growled.

“Stubborn,” Pitt went on, “determined to get its own way.” A pause. “Short.”

Teeth showing in a snarl, Edward’s threat seemed more a play than real. “Taller than you.” 

“We’ll find out when we get to my place.” Pitt twisted a bit more to look at Winry. “How are you, Winry? It’s been a long time.” 

What could she say that didn’t sound absolutely stupid or worse? “I’ve been busy,” she finally said, hoping it would satisfy Pitt’s curiosity for the time being. 

“She’s been taking care of me.” Edward’s sullen answer surprised Winry. While it was true, she hadn’t expected him to say it. 

“You’ve always needed a lot of extra care,” Pitt said, nodding solemnly, but his wink caught Winry’s eye.

“Fuck off.” Edward grunted as the cart hit a dip in the road. 

The pony shook its head, making the harness jingle. Pitt shook his head, too. “Is that any way to talk to the man who’s rescued you, Ed?” 

Grumbling under his breath, Edward yanked the blanket tighter around himself, leaning heavily against the side of the cart. Winry folded her hands in her lap. Was Edward rallying because Pitt and he had always squabbled as kids? She doubted he felt any better than he had at the cemetery. Sweat plastered his bangs to his face and he still shivered, sometimes hard enough to make his teeth chatter. 

“Almost there,” Pitt said, and pointed ahead of them. Winry rose up on her knees, spotting his old house. It looked a lot different than the last time she’d seen it. Now rose bushes and daisies grew out front, and the stone fence had been repaired. The shutters and door were painted a dark green that went well with the warm grey stone making up the house itself. Behind it sat a small barn, probably where Pitt dried and stored his herbs, if Winry had to make a guess. A couple of cats dodged the pony cart ungracefully, one racing for a nearby tree, the other leaping up to a window sill and arching its back. The pony flipped an ear at them, the same way Edward would flip an obscene gesture at someone annoying him. “Whoa,” Pitt said, and the pony stopped abruptly, jolting them one last time. Pitt kicked the brake on and hopped out. “Do you need any help, Ed?” 

He grumbled a reply. Winry rolled her eyes, sliding her hand under his flesh arm to help him maneuver out of the cart. She almost pulled her hand back at the oily feel of his sweat soaking through his shirt, but she’d dealt with worse. Pitt waited as Edward shifted his real leg and the awkward loaner around, offering a hand to help Edward out of the cart. Take it, Ed, Winry almost hissed at him, but Edward grabbed the cart’s side and hopped out, somehow managing to stay upright. Winry couldn’t see his face, but from Pitt’s expression, Edward couldn’t look too good. Scrambling out after him, Winry took his automail arm, holding him steady. “Are you all right?”

Edward curled his lip without any real vehemence, and Pitt grinned. “Come on, let’s get you inside and cleaned up, and you can rest for a while.” He took Ed’s other arm and between them, they only halfway hauled him into the house.

Winry didn’t get to see much as Pitt guided them to bathroom. What she did notice was the way the light shone through the windows, illuminating a yellow pine table, the sweet scents of herbs with lavender and rosemary in particular vying for attention, and a small office, with ledgers and a capped ink bottle next to an open book, giving her an idea what Pitt had been doing when he’d gotten the call for help. 

The bathroom matched what she’d seen of the house. The wooden floor had been scrubbed to a smooth finish, with a brightly-colored rag rug next to the clawfoot bathtub. A commode sat tucked a little away to the side, a partition walling it off from the rest of the room. A window allowed southern light in and a wooden bench of the same grey finish as the floor sat beneath it. Pitt settled Edward down there, bending over in front of him, his hands on his knees. “Can you sit there for a minute, Ed? I’ll get you something to wear.” 

Slumped back against the wall, Edward’s answer was to roll his eyes. “He’ll sit,” Winry said dryly, and Pitt shot her an indecipherable look. Straightening up, he nodded at her as he left the bathroom. 

“You’re being nice,” Edward muttered, looking at her through his messy bangs.

“I’m always nice,” Winry said tartly, but her shoulders slumped and she sighed. “Ed.” 

Leaning his head back into the wall for support, he asked, “What?” 

She met his eyes. How long had it been since she’d done that? A simple matter of non-verbal communication, the meeting of a gaze, holding each other’s stares. Edward had been sick, and ducking his head or hiding behind his hair. Now, he looked back at her, still sick, still broken. But something had changed. Winry felt her breath catch inexplicably and she opened her mouth, as if to speak. 

“Bathrobe, and some patient clothes.” Pitt strolled through the door, a load of clothing in his arms. “Not complaining or anything, Ed, but you stink.”

He huffed, turning his attention to Pitt. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll fuck up your bathtub?” 

“I was thinking I’d give you a wash tub to use.” Pitt set the clothes down on the sink. “I mean, you’ve got a wooden leg there. That’s not really supposed to get wet, is it?”

“I can take it off,” Winry said, thinking her voice sounded so distant. She blinked, trying to regain control over herself. “If Ed promises not to break his skull. Again.” 

“The wash tub might be better anyway.” Pitt gestured at the cast on Edward’s right arm. “Those shouldn’t get wet, I know.” Edward leaned forward to reply but a belch came out instead, the stench of it making Winry’s eyes water. Pitt reached over Edward to open the window, fanning his hand in front of his face. “Do that again, and I’ll drown you in that tub.”

“Fuck off.” It was said without any real heat. “My gut’s killing me.” 

“Mint tea would help.” Pitt glanced between Edward and Winry. “It’s soothing and good for stomach problems.” 

“Soothing would be good,” Winry said, nodding agreeably. 

Edward grumbled something, pulling his foot up so he could start working at the laces of his shoe. His fingers didn’t seem to quite have the dexterity at first, but he finally loosened the knot and the shoe fell off his foot. “Tea?” he asked pointedly, as they both looked at him. 

“Right.” Pitt’s easy grin slid back into place. “I’ll get some hot water brewing. And bring back a wash tub.” He left them alone again.

“Do you need help?” Winry asked, careful not to meet Edward’s eyes this time. 

He snorted. His fingers went to the front of his shirt, a fingernail ticking lightly against the button. Edward didn’t wear his sleeves buttoned and left the cuffs loose or rolled up. While automail fingers were amazing, automail with fine motor skills was still something Winry and her fellow mechanics were working on. Buttoning a shirt – specifically a shirt sleeve - was beyond automail fingers. It took him a little bit to get his shirt undone but Edward shrugged out of it, letting it fall onto the floor. Winry picked it up automatically, not hiding her grimace at the sweaty dampness of it. Edward shot her a look before unbuckling his belt. Winry glanced away to give him some semblance of privacy. 

“You don’t have to stay in here and watch me,” Edward said. 

Winry sighed. Why couldn’t it be that simple? “Why should I believe you, Ed?” 

He grumbled, ducking his head, making it hard for her to understand him. Before Winry could ask Ed to repeat himself, he looked at her. Winry’s heart stuttered. If she didn’t know him, she would’ve guessed Edward to be in his forties – older, maybe. Everything he’d gone through since Alphonse’s death stamped its way across his face, leaving it ravaged as a battleground. Edward dropped his eyes, averted his gaze, and Winry realized she’d missed whatever he’d said. Again. “What?”

It was Edward’s turn to sigh, though his came out more like a hiss of air from a stalling locomotive. “Because there’s nowhere left for me to go.” He said it without any inflection, no emotion. Nothing in the way he spoke those words offered Winry any sort of hint of what he felt. Before she could decide how to react, Edward grunted, his shoulders hunching and teeth gritting together. 

At least she knew how to react to another spasm. Winry helped him to the bench, making him sit despite how stiff his body had become. He shuddered, sweat breaking out over his face again. Reaching for a cloth, Winry ran water over it before using it to wipe Edward’s forehead and cheeks. “Are they getting worse?” 

Hunched over his knees, Edward mumbled a single word. “F-fuck.” 

Winry sighed and reached over, rubbing his back. “You idiot.” 

Pitt knocked before opening the door. “All right.” He carried in a wash tub, setting it on the floor. A bucket sat inside the tub, and Pitt snatched it up, setting it in the bathtub and running hot water in it. “I’m sure this is awkward, Ed. For everyone involved.” He included Winry in his smile. Winry tried not to turn her head. “You don’t have to stay, Winry. I can help Ed.” 

She hesitated for a second but Pitt jerked his chin. Slowly taking her hand from where it rested on Edward’s spine, she rose to her feet. Edward glanced at her through his bangs, but she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. “Okay.” She nodded jerkily. “I’ll get the tea ready.” Winry hesitated before leaving the bathroom. “You haven’t heard of anyone else being around, have you? We’re traveling with two other people, and they’ll have expected us back at the train station.” She doubted the Curtises would go unnoticed. Strangers in Risembool were rare, in their own way. 

“I haven’t, but you’re welcome to use the telephone. It’s in the hall.” Pitt gestured over his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Pitt.” Winry tried to catch Edward’s eyes. He wouldn’t let her, and she decided not to try again, leaving the bathroom and the two men in it. 

X X X

The sun had already crossed more than half the sky, starting to change it from brilliant to faded blue. Izumi looked at the sun, frowning, wondering just what had happened to Edward and Winry. They should’ve have met the kids on their walk back to the train station. 

“Maybe we should ask someone.” Sig was right – or would be, if there was someone to ask. Izumi didn’t point that out. It was obvious enough. They walked along the road, Izumi tilting her head toward the hill where the white stones stood. She couldn’t see anyone in the cemetery. Sig studied the ground. “I wonder if there was a burial today.” 

“What?” 

“Look.” He nodded at the soft ground under the arches marking the entrance to the cemetery. 

“Cart tracks?” Izumi rubbed her chin, looking up at the hill. “I don’t see any sign of fresh dirt.” 

“No.” Sig stepped away from the tracks. “Someone might’ve picked up Ed and Winry from here.” 

With a low growl, Izumi folded her hand into a fist. “If that stupid boy…” 

“He’s sick, honey.” Sig touched her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “They can’t have gotten far.”

“He managed to get on a train and leave Rush Valley without any of us knowing. Ed’s still a strong-willed brat.” Izumi stopped herself from pacing, knowing it would do no good. She contented herself with kicking at the dirt. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as yelling at Edward, but would have to do.

“Winry’s with him this time.” 

And she would keep him from leaving, Izumi was sure. It didn’t answer the question of where they were, but it wouldn’t take long to suss out where they were. Risembool was a small community. Someone would have seen them. Someone would be able to tell them a location. 

“All right.” Izumi tightened the barrette holding her hair off the back of her neck. “Let’s go find them so I can kick Ed’s ass again.” 

X X X


	22. Incoherent

The room was warm with the hot water steaming up from the tub on the floor. Pitt poured some witch hazel into it, glancing toward Edward. He still sat on the bench where he had been when Pitt had walked into the room. Pitt cleared his throat. “So, Ed, do you want to tell me what happened? The last I’d heard – and this was from Pinako – Winry was marrying Al. Then I heard Al died.” 

The flinch he’d expected happened, so obvious, it was almost a jolt. Pitt took quiet note of it. “Then Pinako died, and Winry sold the house.” 

Edward twitched his lip. He peered at Pitt out of a bloodshot eye. “Are you asking me a question?” 

“You might want to get cleaned up before the water cools.” Pitt gestured at the tub. “I know you’ll feel better.” He didn’t add ‘and smell better’. 

Dumping a cloth into the tub, Edward fished it out again and began rubbing himself down. There were half-healed wounds and older scars covering his torso. Pitt gave them a cursory look, not wanting to stare, but Edward didn’t seem to notice. “You know, Ed, I wasn’t the only one in Risembool with a crush on Winry. Most of us figured we didn’t stand a chance.” He smiled in memory. “I came home once – did she tell you? I was thinking of asking her if she’d maybe wait for me. That was after you and Al had left.” Knowing he had Edward’s attention, Pitt took the time to arrange the towels. 

A hiss, rather than a curse, came out of Edward’s mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Turning around, Pitt folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Do you know what she was doing when I got here, Ed?” He waited, but there was no verbal response. Edward’s shoulders hunched – enough of a reaction, he thought. “She was learning how to make that stew you always liked.” 

Edward nearly dropped the washcloth, but managed to catch it in time. He grumbled under his breath, wringing the cloth out and kept scrubbing over his skin. 

“So, if Winry was doing that, and took care of you for however long it took you to get on your feet again, after your accident, how is it Al’s the one who asked her to marry him?” 

The way Edward stiffened let Pitt know he’d crossed a line. Edward slung his hair out of his face, his expression thunderous. “If you want to know, why don’t you ask Winry?” he spat out. 

“That seems cruel, doesn’t it?” Pitt raised his eyebrows, wondering just what Edward might do. If Edward used alchemy, he’d be the one hurting. 

Edward sneered. He began washing the scabs and sores decorating his ribs. Blood bloomed, staining his skin. The cloth turned pink, the color deepening the longer Edward washed. He dunked the cloth in the tub, barely wringing it out before he returned to scrub the wounds. Disgust crossed Edward’s face, taking up residence there as he snapped, “Al’s the better man. Always has been. I’m the fuck up. Fucked up his life. Wasn’t going to fuck up Winry’s. They were supposed to work.” He threw the cloth into the tub and reached for a towel to rub his body dry. Blood splotched the pale terrycloth by the time he dropped it on the floor. “Then I fucked up one last time and got Al killed.” His voice barely fluctuated over a monotone growl. His expression, the way he’d scoured the wounds to make them bleed, both spoke more than the words. “Cruel.” He scoffed, but Pitt could see how much redder Ed’s eyes were. 

X XX

Larry Storch considered himself to be an all right kind of guy. He took care of the aunt and uncle who’d raised him after his parents died – Dad in Ishval, Mom in an accident with a runaway dray cart. He liked his job. So what if he didn’t like all the men and women he worked with in the military? Who cared if he thought certain automail mechanics needed to be taken down a peg or two? No man could like every person he’d ever met. That was the plain and simple truth of the matter. 

He’d seen the treatment Lieutenant Colonel Elric received. The kid was almost eight years his junior, but because Elric was an alchemist, he’d automatically been given the rank of major when he joined the military. He didn’t have to go to officer’s school or even complete school, as far as Larry knew, and the kid had joined at the age of twelve. Considered one of Brigadier General Mustang’s staff, Elric was rarely in the office, usually out in the field. Didn’t wear a uniform, most of the time. Barely remembered the chain of command.

The secretary pool was still undecided whether Elric or Mustang was the better catch. They’d cried real tears over Elric’s little brother dying, some of them saying Al would’ve been an even better match than either of the other two men, if only he hadn’t been engaged. 

Alphonse Elric’sintended, Larry had found out, was the Rockbell bitch. Yeah, she had some looks to her – he liked long legs. Her boobs could be bigger, but she had a sweet ass. He’d wondered a couple of times how her innocent face would look, with her lips wrapped around his cock. Was there a wanton woman beneath that cool exterior? Was she still a virgin, or had Elric’s brother plowed that field? 

Larry probably would’ve put Rockbell out of his mind after that first encounter – even with her sharp tongue and bossy ways – but Elric’s woman, Josephine Wagner, kept calling him , trying to find out where she was. And she hated the Rockbell bitch even more than he did. 

When Josie called him yesterday, he’d been about to hang up on her when she pled with him she had nowhere else to go. He didn’t think any of Elric’s military buddies would help her out, though he was kind of surprised she hadn’t called them first. Mustang seemed like a good candidate for helping her, but maybe she’d thought it’d muddy the waters if she did. Reluctantly, Larry had agreed for her to stay with him a few nights. She was pretty, he had to admit. Leggy, with a body that wouldn’t quit. He’d even heard Mustang had done a double-take when he’d met her. Larry had no doubts Josie was using him. Her presence in his place was another reminder to find out where Elric was. Josie didn’t seem to have a job – it was possible she was Elric’s light woman, that he paid for everything for the pleasure of her ‘company’. Larry didn’t care, one way or another. She wouldn’t be sharing his bed, after all. That was one triangle he’d just as soon avoid, no matter how leggy and pouty and flirty Josie could be. And what woman told him to call her by her first name so soon after meeting? Beyond that, Larry wasn’t about to go poaching on a superior officer’s game. Not for him, despite how tempting the package could be. Besides, Elric owing him something, if it came to that, seemed like a fine deal on his end. 

All this rolled through Larry’s mind as he drove to the train station. A call had come in at the desk for a pick up of two. Waiting by the car, he noticed a pair he recognized, despite them being out of uniform. Mustang and his babysitter, Hawkeye. They didn’t see him, or ignored him, same difference, hailing a cab. Neither of them looked at all flustered – that was something about the pair Larry envied. Mustang was one cool cat.

“First Lieutenant!”

Larry turned, seeing another pair of officers leaving the station, coming from a different line. One from the west, rather than the south. He saluted in acknowledgement, and, after pointing out the car, he collected the officer’s luggage. Interesting that Mustang and Hawkeye hadn’t had any. Storing the luggage in the car’s boot, Larry rested his hand on the lid for a few seconds. Where would Mustang and his adjutant be traveling from, in their civvies? 

The thought of what they might’ve been doing kept him occupied all the way back to HQ. 

X X X

Edward jerked awake, staring at an unfamiliar wall, painted pale yellow as the dawn. A cold shudder ran through his body, hard enough to make his teeth chatter. He couldn’t place where he was, where he’d fallen asleep. He tried to sit up, failed the first attempt, but managed the second. The change in altitude made his head spin, and Edward nearly collapsed back into the bedding. Biting back a moan, he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his mouth to try to keep from vomiting. His stomach wrenched and he fought against the bile rising in his throat, swallowing it down again. 

“Ed?” 

A man’s voice, one he didn’t recognize immediately. Edward recoiled from the concern in the single syllable, cracking his shoulder into a headboard. He grunted at the sudden jolt of pain. His spinning head made it difficult to get any type of control over his contrary gut. “Who – who,” he tried to get out a question. 

“It’s me. Pitt.” He approached the bed, his hands open and spread. “Remember? I picked Winry and you up at the cemetery earlier.” 

Pitt? Edward chewed his lower lip. His eyes didn’t seem to want to focus properly. Pitt was here? “Where’s Winry?” 

“She was worn out. I made her lie down after she found your friends. The Curtises?”

“Where’s Winry?” Edward repeated, then remembered Pitt said she was lying down. He sniffed, rubbing his nose on the sleeve of his right arm. The cast on his left arm kept him from moving it around too much. It seemed to weigh more than his automail. 

“Lying down,” Pitt said patiently. “You should lie down, too. Rest a little longer.” 

Another shudder rolled through his body. Edward bit his tongue trying to control it. “Feel sick.”

“If you need to throw up, there’s a bucket at the head of the bed.” Pitt picked it up to show it to Edward. “Or I could make you some mint tea. It’ll soothe your stomach.” 

Mint tea. Pinako had made him drink it after the automail surgery. Edward remembered her spooning it into his mouth. “You need to swallow it, boy,” she’d said. “It’ll help.” She’d been right. Pitt probably was, too. “Is Winry awake?” That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask. He passed his dry tongue over his lips. He needed something to drink, even if he’d vomit it afterward. The headboard managed to keep him upright, but Edward felt himself sagging. The nerves kept his exhausted body jumping, making him quiver and jerk. His own voice, clear, analytical, and somewhat exasperated, spoke in his head, _It’s the drugs leaving your system. You’re craving opium. This is what happens when you don’t wean off of it._ He knew it to be true, but didn’t want to think about it. A spasm ripped through him hard enough to make his teeth click together. Edward grunted. Sweat stung his eyes. Another tremor racked his body. Al had yelled at him at the cemetery, but Al was dead. How could he be there and not? Was Winry dead, too? “Winry?” He had to see her. Getting his feet on the floor, he realized he couldn’t stand up, not without help. Edward clutched the headboard, using it to keep his balance. “Winry!”

Pitt’s face swam in front of him, the freckles making a peculiar pattern over his nose. “Ed, it’s all right, she’s sleeping. Let her sleep.” Pitt tried to shush him. 

His stomach rolled, the gas and bile in it rising in his throat and burning his nostrils. Edward doubled over, bile spooling out of his mouth. He vaguely acknowledged the bucket Pitt shoved under his mouth. The splat from the bile hitting the bottom of the pail echoed in his ears. The stench and foul taste made him gag and cough. 

His eyes streamed, blurring everything. Unable to stand any longer, Edward dropped on the floor next to the bed. A chill wrapped itself around him. He shivered and fumbled at the shirt he wore, tugging it tighter. Pitt, he realized, knelt next to him. He was talking. Edward blinked, eyes still stinging from the sweat. Focusing on Pitt was too difficult. He wondered again where Winry was. She hadn’t left him here, had she? _She wouldn’t leave. She has to make my leg. She knows._ Another spasm caused more sweat to roll down his face. Edward grunted again at the pain. It felt like a whole flock of needles concentrated in his joints. 

“…trade one addiction for another.” 

The words rocked around in Edward’s head, obliterating whatever Pitt was saying. He just couldn’t concentrate on Pitt. He wiped his eyes carefully, the metal finger tips cool against his too-hot skin. “Please,” Edward said, not even sure why he begged. He’d fucked up so many times, even the Truth would say his chances were over.

Something enveloped Edward’s shoulders. He sighed at the added warmth, clutching the blanket close. Someone laid a hand on his cheek and he leaned into it, recognizing Winry by touch. 

“It’s all right, Ed.” Winry soothed him with her voice. She wrapped her arm over his shoulder. With a shaky sigh, he leaned against her. Nestling close, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. She smelled so good. Her warmth heated him through, driving off the chills. 

Winry wouldn’t let anything happen to him, Edward knew. A scraping noise startled him, but Winry petted his hair, murmuring, “Everything is all right.” He trusted her. His body relaxed, the tension bleeding out of it. 

Pitt returned with the bucket, rinsed cleaned. Edward heard him, not opening his eyes. “Winry,” Pitt said, “you need to rest. I can handle him.” A pause. “You can’t wean him off one thing and get him hooked on another.”

Edward nearly fell asleep before Winry answered. “When we were little, after the accident. When Ed decided he wanted automail. Granny didn’t want to give him much morphine. She saved it for the absolutely worst patients, and dripped it out to keep them from getting addicted. I sat up with Ed most nights. I changed his dressings and kept his IVs clean. I wiped him down with cold cloths when he was feverish and slept beside him when he was cold.” She exhaled, not quite a sigh. “He’s probably been hooked since then.” Winry shifted and Edward mumbled a protest. “You need to be in bed,” she told him. “Come on, put your feet under you and stand up with me.”

“Dizzy.” Edward knew he had to sound like a whiny brat and tried to do what Winry wanted to make up for it. It took a few tries – the loaner leg didn’t cooperate at first – but he managed. 

“Let me help.” Pitt came to Edward’s other side, offering his own support. “On three, all right? One, two, three.”

Between them, they half-lifted Edward off the floor. The change made his head spin. “Wait,” he thought, and they didn’t move, so he guessed he had said it out loud. When his head and stomach settled enough, Edward let them turn him and take him the few paces back to the bed. Pitt set him on the mattress and Winry helped him lift his too-heavy legs. 

“Now,” she said, in that familiar brisk, somewhat cross voice he knew too well, “you’re going to rest, Ed.” Her tone softened, becoming less strident. “I know it hurts and your stomach and head ache. Pitt’s going to make you more tea. I want you to drink it.” 

Pitt rustled around behind her, almost out of Edward’s fuzzy range of vision. “I’ll go brew it. Are you all right here?” The question sounded like a warning.

“We’re all right.” Winry glanced over her shoulder and Edward could just see the faint curl of her mouth. When she turned her smile to him, he couldn’t help but nod. Whether Pitt saw it or not didn’t matter, he’d agree for Winry’s sake. 

“Your fucking goddess,” Josie hissed in his head. “Just a stupid girl with no clue how to treat a man. She’ll leave you again, Ed, and where will you be?” His back ached in remembrance of the punishing nails Josie had raked along his spine. His balls retracted from the crack of a folded belt. For a second, or maybe longer, he heard the whistle of leather cutting through the air and felt the slice of it on his skin. 

“Ed.” 

He startled, a yip escaping him. Winry studied him, reaching up to cup his cheeks. “It’s all right, Ed. I’m here.” 

“Winry.” Not Josie, with her cruel taunts.

“Yes, Ed.” 

His brain fogged. His body trembled again. “The effects of withdrawal,” said the clinical voice. “You’ll feel extreme thirst and nausea, and pain throughout your body. Headaches are common, as are joint pains.” Edward couldn’t tell if it was Alphonse pacing back and forth or Hohenheim near the vanity. Just a blond blur. Couldn’t be the Father. He was gone. Not that it stopped Al. 

“Hallucinations are also common, pipsqueak.”

“Envy.” Edward growled.

“Ed, it’s just you and me,” Winry said. She touched his forehead and his cheek. No fucking way Envy knew what Winry smelled like. “Whoever else you’re seeing, they’re not real.”

“You don’t believe her do you? Women, they’re fickle.” Envy crept up to stand at Winry’s shoulder. Its eyes gleamed with malevolence. “She threw you over for your baby brother, didn’t she? You, the Fullmetal Shorty. Whassa matter, you not tall enough for her to even notice you?”

Edward caught Winry’s shoulder. She protested with a yelp as he dragged her down onto the bed on top of him. He showed his teeth. “Envy, you fucking liar!”

“Ed.” Winry lay sprawled over his legs, trying to crawl off of him. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real!”

Envy’s shape morphed, the homunculus becoming Winry’s double. “Ed, it’s not real,” Envy said, a mockery of her voice. “Except it is, isn’t it?” 

“Stop looking like her!” Edward snarled.

“Hallucinations are a symptom of withdrawal,” Hohenheim said from the vanity. 

Edward stabbed a finger at him. “You shut up, old man!” He turned that finger at Envy. “You fuck off!”

“Ed,” Winry said. 

“Ooh,” Envy said, making a kissy face with Winry’s mouth. It leaned closer. “Did you ever imagine what it’d feel like to fuck this body?” Its hands moved in a lewd caress over Winry’s – its – breasts and stomach. “Did it kill you, knowing Alphonse had?” 

The growl built to a rumble, harsh enough to rattle his automail plates. “Shut up!”

“Did you ever think about fucking this body when you were on top of Josie?” 

The question cut too close. Edward slapped his hands together, the cast making it awkward. The touch was enough to complete the transmutation matrix. He slapped flesh fingers on his automail arm, the flash of light and familiar chime a warning. Envy still smiled, _leered_ at him, wearing Winry’s body. 

“Ed, no!” Winry grabbed hold of his arm. 

He strained against her grasp and panted with the effort. “It’s Envy!”

“Ed.” Winry rolled on top of him, straddling his hips. She caught his face in her hands, making him meet her eyes. “It’s you and me. There’s no one else in the room.” 

Envy laughed. Winry held Edward still, keeping him from turning his head. Afraid he’d hurt her if he moved, Edward whined. His eyes darted to the side, trying to keep Envy in sight. As if she could read his mind, Winry pressed her forehead against his. He could see nothing but her eyes, enormous and brilliant blue. 

“You and me.” Her breath fanned his mouth. Edward licked his lips reflexively. Winry stroked his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs. “That’s it. Pitt’s not even back yet.” A shuddering sigh escaped Edward and he slumped against the headboard. Her hand moved down his throat to rest over his heart. “You and me,” she repeated. “And you need to change your automail back.”

“Sorry.” Edward wondered if the flush heating his face was from Winry sitting on him or a fever. It didn’t matter either way. He touched his hands together and returned his automail to its normal state. His nerves jumped and twitched in reaction to the adrenaline still coursing through his system. Edward wanted to punch something, but Winry was still in the way. He thought she’d be strong enough to hold him down without restraints. A second later, he broke out in a sweat, gritting his teeth together and hoping Winry hadn’t felt his dick twitch in reaction to that thought. “Can you get off me?” he grated out. 

Winry leaned in close again, a scowl on her face. Edward rapped his skull on the headboard trying to escape. “You’re not going to transmute anything else?” 

He wanted to arch his hips up and throw her off. And his stupid dick wanted her to stay right there. “No! Get off, Winry!” 

She snorted and swung her leg over him, but didn’t pull away. “You look feverish.” 

“No shit.” 

Pitt walked into the room before Winry could respond, a tray in his hands. “Tea,” he announced, but he glanced at Winry, a question on his face. “I heard noises.” 

“We’re all right.” Winry slid off the bed, a reassuring smile on her face. Taking the nearest cup, she turned back to the bed. “You need to drink this, Ed. Do you need help?” 

If Pitt hadn’t been standing there with a stupid smirk on his face, Edward would’ve agreed. But Pitt had asked those questions about Winry. And Al. And him. “You go rest,” Edward heard himself say. “If I need any help, Pitt’s here.” He didn’t mention Envy, still leaning against the vanity and primping in the mirror, nor Hohenheim, standing near the window with his arms folded. They wouldn’t be of any use at all. 

“You’re sure?” Winry searched his face before handing him the cup. She didn’t let go, even when Edward closed his fingers around it. 

“Tell her to stay, Edward,” Hohenheim said. “None of us will rest otherwise.” 

He sucked his lower lip, meeting her eyes. He wanted to sneer at the old man, but he thought Hohenheim might be right. “Please. Stay.” When she smiled, Edward tried to tell himself it wasn’t the reason for the loosening of the bands across his chest. 

He knew he was lying.


	23. Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy 3 October day!

Trude folded her arms, a mouth a thin line. Pitt’s explanation of why he’d asked the Martins to look after Len for the night made sense. Still, “I’d like to have been consulted about this.” 

Pitt sighed, running a hand up the back of his neck. “I understand, dear. I do. But I didn’t know what was going on when I picked Ed and Winry up at the cemetery. It seemed like the best thing for Len.” 

Taking a deep breath, Trude inhaled the scents of the herb garden, the ripening tomatoes, and the sheep down the road. When she’d accepted Pitt’s proposal, she knew it would be a challenging life. As a healer, he kept unusual hours, and sometimes had unusual patients. She’d never expected a State Alchemist in drug withdrawal in her home. Pitt had been right to keep Len away. Trude wasn’t sure she needed to leave, too. If something happened to Pitt and she wasn’t there…

“Trude, I know you’re a strong woman. I’m not saying you aren’t.” Pitt cupped her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “I’d feel better if I knew you were somewhere…else.” He sighed, going on before she could form a response. “Ed’s a good man. But he’s hurting. Winry has experience with that. She’s taken care of him half their lives, maybe more. She knows how to keep him focused. I’m just going to be here to give her a break when she needs and make sure they both eat and drink.”

Narrowing her eyes, Trude studied Pitt closely. She could tell he was worried. If she stayed she might be in the way, and she hated that feeling. Still, leaving felt like running away from him when he might need her the most. Turning toward their home, the grey stone building with the green shutters, she sighed. “I really don’t like this.”

Leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek, Pitt lingered there. “I know you don’t,” he whispered in her ear. “But I can’t help Ed and be worried about you at the same time.” He pulled back, and Trude could feel him searching her face. “You understand, don’t you?” 

His concern made him all the more adorable. Trude gave him her attention. “So, I’ll leave here and be worried about you?” 

A smile broke out across his face. “No, dear. You leave here and know I’m in good hands.” He turned her toward the road where she could see a massive man and a slip of a woman walking toward them. “They’ll be here, too. Another alchemist to help if we need it.” Releasing her shoulders, Pitt walked down to the road, waving his hand in greeting. The huge man waved back. “Izumi and Sig Curtis,” Pitt said over his shoulder in explanation. “The people who helped raise Ed and Al after their mother died.” 

Trude wanted to argue more but Pitt had effectively cut off all her protests with the arrival of another alchemist. As Pitt brought the couple into the yard, Trude pasted on a smile and offered her hand when Pitt introduced them. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, her hand swallowed up in Sig’s monstrous paw. 

“Likewise.” Mrs. Curtis had a sturdy feel to her, despite how small she seemed next to her husband. “And don’t worry, Mrs. Renbak. We can control Ed. He won’t do any damage to your home or your husband.” 

The comment startled a laugh out of her. “Really?”

“Really. Believe me, Ed’s under control. Right, honey?”

Sig grunted his agreement. “Between Izumi and Winry, Ed’s pretty well-behaved.” 

Pitt didn’t actually come out and say something but Trude could tell he wanted to. She offered a wry grin. “If my husband is in good hands, that’s all I need to know.” Not really but Pitt seemed to be willing to trust this pair and the woman already inside the house with the alchemist. It had to be something, she thought, even if she hadn’t met any of them before. “All right. I guess I can leave my home and husband in your care.” Trude pointed at Pitt. “But if there’re any problems, you’d better let me know immediately.”

“Mrs. Renbak, I’ll make sure he does,” Sig said. 

His comment sounded like a promise. Trude relented, knowing she wasn’t going to change anyone’s minds. “All right. I’ll be at the Martins’.” She took Pitt’s hand, giving it a squeeze. When he turned to her, she kissed him. “Be careful,” she whispered against his mouth. 

“I will,” he said. “Don’t worry, Trude. Things will be all right.” 

Tipping the corner of her mouth up, she said, “They’d better be.” She punched him lightly in the chest. “Be good, Pitt.” 

He grunted at the thump and rubbed his chest. “I will, Trude. And I’ll call you just as soon as I can.” She let him guide her toward the road as he said, “You be good.” 

Trude’s answer was a snort, but she turned toward the Martins’ house and Len. 

X XX

Josie paced Lieutenant Storch’s apartment. It smelled like lemon oil, clean and bright, rather than of cigarettes and mold. The smell made her shoulders hunch. She wanted to do something, make it smell familiar. The ice box had food in it – not empty, like the box back at the old apartment. There were books on the shelves; that, at least, was familiar and reminded her of Ed. 

Ed. Why didn’t she know where he was? Why hadn’t the First Lieutenant found him yet? She needed him back. She needed to know she had his heart, or at the very least, his loyalty. He needed her, she’d made sure of that. 

The thing about waiting was it was so hard. She’d been waiting since she found out Ed survived the hospital. Waiting for him to come back to her, to leave the Rockbell bitch. But the bitch had come into her own home and taken Ed’s things. Said Ed wasn’t ever coming back. Josie fisted her hands, wanting to punch something. She’d have to show the bitch Josie Wagner wasn’t one to just roll over. To do that, she needed to talk to Ed. Remind him of how much he needed her. How much she’d given him to help him with the pain of his brother’s death. 

“Why hasn’t he found Ed yet?” Josie asked the walls of the apartment. 

They had no answer.

X X X

Everything passed as a haze. Edward remembered periods of pain where it seemed like someone touched live wires to his automail ports, the jolts shooting lightning bolts of agony through every joint in his body. Sometimes he vomited until nothing came up but strands of bile. Those bouts left him wasted and panting until his stomach heaved again. His head pounded and the bright light from somewhere, he wasn’t quite sure where, made his eyes ache enough he wanted to dig them out of his skull. 

In the few times lucidity reigned, he wished he could die. No visions appeared during those times, at least, none he recognized. It seemed like Alphonse had left him for good. He thought he saw Hohenheim once, standing in the corner of the room, but when he managed to focus his eyes, Edward recognized a blob of sunlight instead of the old man’s disappointed face. Envy never returned, something which gave Edward a hint of relief. 

During his lucid points, he wished he didn’t see Winry. The concern in her eyes made him cringe, inwardly and out. He wanted to turn away from her but he also wanted to crawl to her, bury his face against her. He realized he searched the room for her every time his eyes opened. 

This time, the darkness in the room told him it was night. Whoever babysat him snored somewhere in the darkness. Edward guessed the snorer to be Sig. Izumi and Winry both slept quietly. Taking a deep breath, he sat up. His head spun, hard enough to nearly knock him back into the mattress, but Edward rode it out. He grabbed hold of the headboard to keep his balance. His broken arm ached from the abuse his grasping put it through but he ignored the pain. He let his eyes adjust to dim light in the room, blinking through the blurriness. 

For a while, the sound of Sig’s snoring filled Ed’s ears. The rhythmic noise lulled him, almost convinced him to lie back down, but he felt like he’d done enough of that. How many days had it been since they’d arrived in Risembool? He couldn’t remember but it had to have been at least two. How much hell had he gone through since he’d fought the chimera? Even racking his brain didn’t turn up all the information. Patches of time had gone missing. Analytically, Ed understood why. He didn’t know if he wanted to think about it. The past few days – since the fight with the chimera, if he admitted it to himself – had been a hell of a lot of pain. Three people had stuck with him through it, the same three people here in Risembool with him. 

He didn’t want to think about that, either. 

Edward shifted his weight, the bed springs creaking under him. Sig’s snores ceased for a second, long enough for Ed’s heart to stop beating. When the next snort came, Edward let out a sigh. A tremor rolled through his body, not as intense as some of them in the past. A shiver followed it and he dragged at the blanket, his fingers catching in the fabric. He didn’t pull it over himself. 

He wondered just how far down he’d gone since their arrival in Risembool. A quick check let Edward know no one had slipped a catheter inside his penis. Under the sheet, he detected the crackle of a waterproof cover on the mattress. Pitt must’ve had other difficult people in the past. Winry had taken his loaner leg at some point. Edward didn’t mind. The thing threw him off balance and seemed to weigh as much as his automail did. It only moved with great effort on his part. The storm in Rush Valley hadn’t helped the wooden leg any. Without the leg, he was helpless. If he knew the house, Edward could hop around using the wall and furniture for balance but in the middle of the night his jumping around would wake everyone up. And he could crash to the ground – and he didn’t want that, either. 

Still, the urge to leave the room nearly overwhelmed him. Edward needed to go. He slid off the bed, his flesh foot hitting the floor. The jolt travelled up through his leg and to the top of his skull. Gritting his teeth, Edward did his best to ignore it. Faint light showed through the parted curtains of the windows, giving him a vague impression of the room. The big lump covering the other bed had to be Sig. Edward spent a few seconds wondering where Izumi might be sleeping, then decided Sig must have sent her off to rest where Edward’s moans wouldn’t bother her. 

The first hop he took, he slewed sideways, almost landing on the bed again. Edward windmilled his arms, one hand dropping to the mattress to stay upright. Once he was steady, he took another hop, then another. He glanced sideways at the other bed. Sig didn’t react, didn’t even move. He let out another tremendous snore. For a second, memory took the place of the present – Donkey Kong had snored almost as loud when they were traveling through the countryside. Edward had wondered how no one found them from the noise the huge man made.

The door seemed tantalizingly close, yet too far away. Edward fought to keep his balance as he hopped twice more, finally managing to grasp the door handle. He pulled and it opened with a faint squeal. Sig snorted again and Edward hopped through, tugging the door after him. 

He leaned against the wall, taking the time to catch his breath. If he was going to get anywhere, he needed help. When they were little, Winry used to haul him around with her, her arm around his waist, holding him up like they were in a three-legged race. Edward ground his teeth, trying to push the memory out of his mind. He needed something other than her help. He had to do this on his own. 

His slow process through the house didn’t go unnoticed. The cats peered at him from around corners and dashed away as Edward drew nearer. He followed them, hoping he wasn’t making enough noise to wake anyone. At least cats didn’t bark like dogs. A chair beckoned and Edward caught hold of the back of it, using it for leverage to let himself down onto the seat. His pulse pounded and drummed an angry tempo in his skull. His leg ached from the hopping, the pain beating in time with the drum in his head. Edward closed his eyes, taking slow breaths. Eventually, when his heart beat didn’t bang in his skull any more, Edward cautiously stood up again. His balance off, he wavered and grabbed for the back of the chair. His automail fingers clacked against the wood. 

_Wood._ Edward focused on chair then glanced around. He leaned against the wall and pressed his hands together, dropping them to the chair. The lightning flash and accompanying chime made him grin. Edward grabbed the crutches, tucking them under his arms and hobbled for the door. 

X X X

Winry walked into her bedroom, wondering when Alphonse had gotten home. He sat on the floor next to the bed. “Figured you’d like something bigger,” he said, and swiped his damp bangs off his forehead. He used the foot board to help pull to his feet. “What do you think?”

The room looked familiar, with her worktable on one wall and a chest of drawers on another. An open suitcase sat on the dresser, a red coat dangling out of it. Winry frowned, turning back to Alphonse. He was back in armor and walking out the door. “Hey,” Winry said, trotting after him. When she ran through the door, she was outside. “Al! Al, where are you?” she shouted. 

“He’s gone,” Pinako said. She patted Winry’s back. “You need to find Ed, Winry.” 

“Winry!” 

She blinked, shaking her head. “‘m awake, Granny,” she mumbled as she sat up. The scent of lavender made her sneeze. Where was she? Not home, she realized. Risembool, but not her house. 

“Winry!” Izumi came through the door. “Ed’s missing.” 

“Damn it!” Winry scrambled out of bed, searching for her clothes. 

“Pitt’s already called the train station and Ed’s not there,” Izumi said. “He must’ve slipped out sometime last night.” 

Winry yanked her clothes on, finding her shoes and stepping into them. She stuffed her hair up into a hasty ponytail. “Coming!” She scrubbed the sleep from her eyes as she hurried out of the room, a flash of her dream coming back to her. Winry hesitated, glancing back into the bedroom. It looked the same and different from her dream. With a shake of her head, she followed Izumi.

Pitt stood outside, his hands on his hips. The color of the sky in the east foretold the dawn but it was still some time away. Winry scowled, looking in either direction along the road. She didn’t not see anyone, not even a shepherd moving a flock. 

“We should split up,” Sig said, his voice deep and rough from sleep. Winry wondered if he knew his hair stood on end. 

Izumi squatted next to the road, her elbows resting on her thighs. “Or we could track him. Look, someone was using crutches…” She pointed to a trail in the dirt. 

Pitt sighed. “That explains what happened to my chair. He used alchemy to make crutches.” 

Winry joined Izumi at the road, staring down the length of it. It dipped and rose again in the distance, finally curving away on another hill. The road led to the train tracks but not the station, crossing over them and heading northeast, all the way into Corrida, the next town over. Ed wouldn’t be able to hop a train, Winry knew. She didn’t think he’d try. The crossroads led to other houses, to farms, eventually to the town square and the train station. If Edward turned right, it would take him to the farmlands. If he turned left…

“I know where he is.” Winry sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Izumi…stay here, please. I know how to find him.” 

Rising up, Izumi shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as if debating Winry’s request. “You’re sure.” 

“Mm.” Winry smiled at Izumi, including Sig and Pitt in her grin. “It’ll be all right. Wait here and…I’ll bring him back.” 

Pitt laid his hand on Winry’s shoulder. He searched her eyes. “You’re sure, Winry?”

She tried to keep her smile from going lopsided. “We’ll be back soon.” Reaching up, she squeezed Pitt’s hand and gently pulled it down. “I’m going.” For a second her heart ached. Winry ignored it. “I’ll be back soon,” she repeated knowing if she stayed, if she waited – no, she couldn’t wait. Spinning on the ball of her foot, she took off, running down the road. As soon as she could, she turned left, hopping a ditch and climbing over the stone fence. This was one of the sheep pastures, nothing dangerous in it, like some of fields with bulls they used to tease when they were stupid little kids. A stream cut through the lush green grass and Winry slowed down enough to clamber across it. A stitch knitted into her side, letting her know she wasn’t breathing deeply enough. Winry dropped her stride down to a fast walk, wishing she’d kept up her wind. Working metal kept her strong but didn’t do much for building her wind. Once she’d caught her breath, she picked up her speed. 

The sun painted the hillsides in gold and orange, the sky exploding in pinks and violets. Winry climbed over another fence and stopped for a few seconds to rest. The birds chirped territorial warnings and somewhere overhead, a hawk screeched. After trying to work up some moisture in her mouth, Winry gave up. She’d get a drink at the well on the Culbertson farm when she swung through their pasture. Pushing off the fence, she hurried on. Concern pulled her along, made her want to run, but the well beckoned and she needed something to drink before she finished her journey. 

The sweet, cold water cleared her head. Winry drank from the ladle attached to the bucket, dipping it three times. Her stomach protested the chilly water but she ignored it. She needed to keep moving. Pouring the water back into the well, Winry upended the bucket on the stone wall and started walking again. 

Winry sloshed along, not able to run just yet with a belly full of water. Her goal nearly in sight, she slogged on. Roosters crowed in the farmyards, saluting the new day. Dogs barked, readying the sheep to move to the pastures. She heard some halloes and waved, not taking time to stop and talk, not when she was so close. 

Once upon a time, a white house sat on a hill. A tree grew to its left with a swing hanging out of its branches. Two little boys lived there with their mother. But their mother died of an illness, leaving the boys all alone. They missed their mother so much they tried to do something they shouldn’t have – to bring her back from the dead. If they’d thought their lives were horrible before, after the attempt their lives were considerably worse. In reaction and to make sure they had nowhere to return to, no place they could call home, the brothers burned down their home. 

Panting, trying to catch her breath, Winry staggered on toward the remains of the Elric house. The blackened trunk of a tree caught her eye, the uneven ground with grass stubbornly trying to smooth it out reminded her where the house used to stand. Winry started climbing. 

As she crested the hill, she spotted Edward. She wouldn’t have seen him from the road. He leaned against the tree, a pair of crutches in the grass nearby. “Hi.” 

He barely turned his head to acknowledge her, his lips skinned back from his teeth. Dew soaked his clothes and sweat plastered his hair to his face. Tremors rattled the shoulder plates of his automail. “Kn-new y-you’d c-come.” 

Winry squatted next to him, stroking the hair out of his eyes. “You’re freezing. Are you trying to make yourself sicker?”

“Nn.” Edward shivered. “N-needed to c-come here.” 

“Couldn’t you have come during the day? I would’ve brought you.” 

Edward shrugged. “Wanted to go home,” he mumbled. “‘Member the swing? We used to…I jumped out an’ broke my arm…” 

“I remember.” Winry smoothed his bangs. “There are a lot of memories here.” Too many, she thought but didn’t say out loud. “You’re cold and wet, Ed. We need to get you out of here. Back to Pitt’s.” 

He rolled his head to meet her eyes. “I wanted to come home, Winry.” He raised his hand, fingers still clumsy from the cast to touch her cheek. “I want to come home.” 

Winry covered his hand with hers. “We don’t have a home any more, Ed.” 

She barely heard his whisper of, “I do,” and wondered where he meant. Back with Josie? Or somewhere else? Risembool, even though both their houses were gone? Maybe it wasn’t time to ask but Winry knew she’d be thinking about it, trying to solve the riddle. “All right. But now, you need to get dried off and warmed up. Do you think you can walk with my help?” 

Edward dropped his hand. “Yeah. If you get me my crutches, it’ll help.” 

The walk back wouldn’t be as fast, Winry knew, but they’d make it. She wasn’t going to fail Edward this time. 

X X X


	24. Intransient

The craving lingered, like a mosquito bite in the middle of the back. Edward could feel it. Like a bite it wouldn’t stop _itching._ Something could distract him from it for a little bit but as soon as the distraction ended, the desire came back worse than before. 

At first, he could sleep through it and he did sleep, almost all the way from Risembool to Rush Valley to drop off Winry. When neither Izumi nor Sig rose to their feet at the Rush Valley station, panic wormed its way up through Edward’s body. His heart thundered and his mouth went dry as he clutched at Winry’s arm. “Wait.” 

She hesitated, studying him for a few seconds. “Ed, this is my stop.” She raised her hand and he almost flinched back but Winry carefully pried his automail fingers free from her sleeve. “I have customers I need to take care of and your leg to build.” 

He wanted to grab her again. Instead he forced his hand down onto his thigh. “Can I stay with you?” As soon as the question spilled out, Edward cringed. He didn’t deserve to stay with Winry. He’d broken into her medicine cabinet – had stolen from her. Why would she want him anywhere near her home? _Home is Risembool; a big yellow house on a slow rise, a dog watching over the chickens in the front yard and the smell of stew tickling his nose. The old hag’s pipe smoke perfumes the air and Winry works on something from the sound of the grinding wheel._ Edward shook off the daze, realizing someone had spoken. “What?” 

Sig repeated himself. “You’re coming with us, Ed.” 

“I’m sorry, Ed. I can’t take care of you and work.” Winry gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It’ll only be a week, maybe ten days and I’ll bring you your leg.” The conductor shouted a warning the train would be leaving the station. Edward opened his mouth to argue but Winry went on. “You have a loaner leg and a crutch.” Izumi managed to transmute a serviceable leg out of the one he’d all but destroyed. Of course, no one was giving it to him until they arrived at Dublith. “You’ll be fine, Ed.”

I won’t, he wanted to say but the words clogged in his throat. Winry wanted him to go. He didn’t blame her for not trusting him. He’d fucked up and caused her a lot of trouble. The train whistle piped out another reminder the train would be pulling out of the station soon, the sound of it jangling Edward’s thoughts. He tried to sort them out to make an argument as to why he should stay in Rush Valley with her when Winry leaned down, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you soon, Ed.” She turned to Izumi and Sig. “If you have any trouble, call me.” 

“We shouldn’t, Winry, but thank you,” Izumi said as Edward sank back into the seat. His heart pounded and his skin flushed. 

“Goodbye, Winry,” Sig said as she gathered her bag and slung it over her shoulder. 

Winry bobbed her head to them then turned to Edward. “Bye.” He croaked out something unintelligible as she spun on her heel and hurried down the aisle. When her head vanished behind the step railing Edward twisted to search for her out the window. The train whistle blew again, the engine jerking the train cars once then started pulling them out of the station. Steam curled around the station like a fog, hiding it for an instant before the movement of the train sucked the vapor away. The station receded but Edward saw Winry waving from the edge of the platform before the curve of the tracks took her out of sight. 

“You should rest up, Ed,” Izumi said. 

“What?” Confusion reigned as he looked away from the window to her. His heart rate increased again at the expression on her face and he wondered if he could transmute a hole in the side of the train car and roll out of it before she could catch him. 

“You have a lot of training to do when we get home,” Izumi said. “So you should get in as much rest as you can.”

Edward hoped he hadn’t peed himself at the sight of her smile.

X X X

Larry didn’t really care to eat at the mess hall but the food was cheaper than what he’d pay out on the street. He didn’t really have time to run home and wasn’t sure he wanted to, anyway. Miss Wagner was a peculiar woman, with appetites Larry didn’t want to encourage, particularly in his own place. He’d reminded her this morning she had to be out of his apartment by the end of the day and had hidden a shudder at the look she’d given him. Miss Wagner’s sex appeal not withstanding, Larry didn’t know how Elric survived her. Some of the things she’d implied could’ve put a curl in his hair, like his aunt’s old saying. Her leaving was for the best and Larry wouldn’t be sorry to see her back going through his door. 

“Storch. Mind?” 

Jerked out of his reveries, Larry waved a hand, his mouth too full of food to answer politely. First Lieutenant Breda settled across from him, setting a tray down with a huge sandwich, an apple, and a pile of green beans on his plate. Breda took a pull from the straw of his drink, making a face and yanking the straw out to drop it on his tray. “Paper straws. Like they do any good.” 

Larry wasn’t sure how to respond to that, going with a noncommittal grunt. Picking up his fork, he stabbed some beans and shoved them into his mouth. 

Breda hefted his sandwich and took a bite. Larry kept his attention on his plate, his aunt’s reminder of it being impolite to watch other people eat ringing in his ears. Over the casual buzz of conversation and clink of utensils, Breda said, “I hear you’ve got a woman at your place.” 

Larry’s fork clattered on his plate. He gaped at Breda for a few seconds. Heat climbed up his neck. How had Breda found out? “She’s leaving today,” he blurted. Realizing he’d leaned forward, Larry pressed his back into the chair. His head whirled. It wasn’t against regulations to have someone in the apartment and he didn’t live on base anyway. He didn’t need to defend himself. 

Breda chewed another bite of his sandwich. “Does she have something on you?”

“I’m doing her a favor.” Larry heard how stiff he sounded and knew Breda did, too. Breda’s reaction was to fork some beans into his mouth. “She didn’t have any place else to stay.” Why was he explaining? Larry wanted to clamp his mouth shut but the implacable expression on Breda’s face seemed to encourage him to loosen his tongue and dig a deeper hole. 

“That kind of woman can always find a place to stay,” Breda said. He studied his plate and chose the sandwich again. Before he bit into it, he caught Larry’s eyes. “I’ve seen the damage she can do. Don’t let her drag you down.”

Larry shoved his chair back, the metal feet squealing over the linoleum. “Thank you for the advice,” he said as he picked up his tray. Appetite gone, Larry carried his food to the garbage pail to dump it. Whatever happened, Miss Wagner was leaving his place tonight. He creased his brow in thought. If he could get her out of Central City and onto Elric’s trail, she’d really be out of his hair. 

With a grim smile, Larry decided to pay a visit to the secretary pool. The women there always knew the gossip and even if the info was wrong, Miss Wagner could take care of herself, like Breda said. And if it was right, well, the Rockbell bitch deserved a comeuppance of her own for the way she’d treated him. 

X X X

Elicia heard the telephone ring and ran toward it, Sheba chasing after her. Mother picked up the receiver before she could. “Hello, Hughes residence.” Elicia made a face – she liked answering the telephone. It wasn’t often the calls were for her, but it was fun hearing the voices coming through the receiver. 

“Come on, Sheba,” Elicia said. 

Mother’s said warmly, “Oh, hello, Winry!” 

Stopping in mid-turn, Elicia ran back to Mother and reached for the receiver. “I want to say hi!” Mother frowned and Elicia folded her hands together. “Please.” Sheba whined her own plea.

“Hold on, Winry, Elicia wants to talk to you.” Mother gave her the receiver. 

Putting it to her ear, Elicia said, “Hi, big sis!” 

Winry laughed but something didn’t sound right. “Hello, Elicia. What are you doing home from school?” 

“It’s the weekend!” Elicia pouted. How could Winry not know that? “When are you coming to visit? I have a bicycle now and I can ride it. And you should see how big Sheba is now!” Hearing her name, Sheba barked. “Shh, Sheba. She’s smart. She can fetch!”

“I’ll try to come see you soon, Elicia,” Winry said. “But I have some work to do before I can come.” 

“Aw.” Elicia pouted at the receiver. “But you’ll come, right?”

Mother petted Elicia on the head, their signal she needed to pass the receiver over. Elicia sighed, missing Winry’s answer. “I have to go now. Mommy wants to talk to you. Bye, Winry.”

“Goodbye, Elicia,” Winry said, and Elicia gave her mother the receiver. She waited a few seconds until Mother told her to run along. 

“C’mon, Sheba.” Elicia led her dog to the next room. She sat down next to the doorway, leaning against the wall. Sheba sat next to her, cocking her head. “Shh,” Elicia said, pressing her finger to her lips. She wanted to listen to what Mother said to Winry. 

“We’re fine, Winry. Thank you for asking. But how are you?” 

Elicia huffed. It was going to be one of those talks. Boring. Mother should ask when Winry was coming to visit. 

“He’s with the Curtsies? I’m sure they can handle him. You should take the time and rest. I know you were running yourself ragged at the hospital.” Still boring. Elicia rubbed Sheba’s ear. “You need to take care of yourself, Winry,” Mother said in her ‘listen up’ tone. “I know you want to do everything you can to help, but you need a break, too.” Her voice warmed. “Take a nap and eat something. Go out with your friends tonight. Some time for yourself – no one would begrudge you that. Not Ed especially.” Mother listened, humming her agreement. “I miss him, too, Winry. It’s hard. And some days, you don’t want to even leave your bed or deal with anything. That’s okay. You can let yourself have that. Just don’t let it bog you down so you can’t move.” Another pause, while Mother sat in the telephone chair. Elicia heard the squeak of the leather cushion. “He wouldn’t blame you, Winry. Al would know better. You’re doing the best you can for Ed. No one can fault you for it.” This time, Mother stayed quiet for a while. She surprised Elicia when she said in her kindest way, “Winry, I know how hard this is. If you have to back away and take care of yourself, do it. It’s not all on your shoulders. Go and have yourself a good cry, take a long bath, eat something, and sleep. You’ll feel better afterward.” A longer pause. “Of course I’ll tell Roy. You get some rest, dear. You’ll feel better once you have.” Mother chuckled softly. “Of course, Winry. I will. Goodbye.” 

The soft click of the receiver in its cradle let Elicia know Mother had finished talking. She peered around the door frame. Mother wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she kept tucked in her sleeve cuff. She smiled when she saw Elicia. “Why are you and Winry crying?” Elicia asked. 

Mother held out her hand and Elicia went to her, Sheba trotting behind. Mother petted Elicia’s bangs back. “Winry misses Alphonse.” 

Elicia remembered Alphonse but it was weird. Like he’d been really different when she’d first met him. Bigger. Like a big piece of metal or something. “Like we miss Daddy?”

“Yes, honey,” Mother said. 

“And Ed misses Al, too?” Elicia asked. 

“Yes, sweetheart, he does.” Mother petted Sheba, too. 

Elicia thought about it. “We can’t do anything, can we?” 

Mother sighed. “No, nothing beyond being here when they need us.” 

“That stinks.” Sheba barked at how loudly Elicia spoke.

“Elicia!”

“It does, Mommy.” Elicia huffed. “Why’d Al have to die anyway?” 

Mother picked her up and held Elicia in her lap. Sheba stood up on her hind legs, resting her paws on Elicia’s thighs. “The same reason your Daddy did, sweetheart. Trying to help people.” 

Elicia snuggled back against Mother. That made Al a good person, she knew. “No wonder Winry and Ed miss him.” 

Mother held her tight. “No wonder,” she said.

X X X

The Central City train station overflowed with people. Porters moved luggage from platforms to cars. Families hugged and kissed in greetings or farewells. Steam poured out of the engines, making the whole place feel steamy. Cinders littered the air, platforms and tracks. Josie watched an ember float by and land on a porter’s sleeve. The man patted it out without a wince. 

She didn’t like it here. Too many people, all of them rushing around. Engineers and conductors checked on the engines. Some scraped spent coal out of the burner, others oiled the huge wheels, ducking under the engine to take care of it. Radio announcements and bells added to the noise grating on Josie’s ears. She fisted her hands in her dress, ready to walk off the platform and out of the station. 

“You’re not scared, are you?” 

Looking sideways at Storch, Josie curled her lip. “No.” 

“Good.” He handed her a ticket. “You’ll get on the six-twenty train on the twenty-first platform.” He pointed at a platform down from where they stood. “I tipped a porter to make sure your bags are loaded on the train.” 

Josie accepted the ticket squinting at the letters. “Dublith?” 

“That’s where Lieutenant Colonel Elric’s staying.”

Storch didn’t explain how he knew and Josie didn’t care. At least Dublith was a familiar location, even if she’d never been there herself. Ed had talked about it before. Someone lived there, Josie knew, but she couldn’t recall the name of the person. Storch took her elbow to move her out of the way of a family with three squalling children. Josie stared after them. The way her life had been going, they’d be sharing a car with her. 

Announcements reverberated through the station. Storch’s hand tightened on her elbow. “That’s the boarding call for your train.” Turning her, he began walking her along the platforms. “It’ll be about a four-day trip to get to Dublith,” he said. “You have the money I lent you?” 

‘Lent’, not ‘gave’. Josie nodded. Now that she knew where Ed was, it didn’t matter. Ed would pay Storch back. As soon as he saw her, she knew he’d pay for anything. “Thank you for all your help, Lieutenant Storch.” 

He definitely had an attractive smile. “You’re welcome, Miss Wagner.” He touched his forehead as he released her arm. “Your platform and your train.” 

To her relief, the noisy family were still moving farther down the way. Josie offered some of that pleasure to Storch in her return smile. He passed her off to a porter who helped her board the car. Josie peered interestedly at the people she’d be traveling with, choosing a seat without anyone too near. She adjusted her dress and hat as she sat down, so the light outside the window would frame her. Catching a glimpse of Storch still on the platform. Josie kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the glass. Storch flushed bright red but he raised his hand in response. 

Someone stopped in the aisle next to her seat. “Excuse me, madam.” Josie turned from the window, albeit reluctantly, to meet the twinkling gaze of an older man. His mustache and hair were shot with white, but his shoulders were broad enough to take up most of the aisle. “Do you mind if I join you?” 

Josie nibbled her lower lip, glancing out the window. Storch had turned away. “No, of course not,” she said, turning back to the man. Reaching into her sleeve, she pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “It would be good to have someone to talk to.”

The man smiled and took the seat across form her. “I would be pleased to talk to you. I’m Jameson Pugh.” 

“Josephine Wagner.” She switched the handkerchief to her other hand to take his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pugh.” 

“And a pleasure to meet you, too, Mrs. Wagner.” 

“Miss,” she corrected with a hint of a tremulous smile. 

Pugh’s interest in her increased with that tidbit of information. His gaze passed over her in a rush, lingering on her left hand, her breasts, and her ankles. Adjusting his position in his seat, he smiled. 

Josie smiled back. At least her trip to find Ed might be interesting. From the cut of his clothes and style of his hair, Mr. Pugh might even prove profitable. 

X X X

Paninya showed up on the third night after Winry’s return to Rush Valley, carrying a sack full of take-out food and another with two big bottles of Rush Valley Firewater, a dark beer brewed locally. Paninya unplugged the metal grinder to interrupt Winry’s work and, not entertaining excuses, chivied Winry out of the shop and into the living portion of Winry’s building. Once she’d popped the lids on the beer and put food on the plate in front of Winry, Paninya sat down and took a swing from her bottle. “Tell me everything.” 

Winry took a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling the scents of the steaming food. Her stomach growled in reaction. 

“All right, Paninya said with a roll of her eyes, “eat something first, and then tell me everything.” 

After eating, and drinking half the bottle of beer, Winry pushed back from the table. “Everything?” 

“All the dirty little details.” Paninya swigged from her bottle. 

Winry sighed. “There are a lot of them.” She peeled the corner of the label off her bottle. “Ed’s sick. Heartsick, head sick. He’s all but killing himself.” 

By the time she finished telling everything that happened, Paninya had insisted they move to someplace more comfortable than the table. Winry curled up in her chair, her bottle empty. Paninya sat on the couch, her feet planted on the floor, a cold cup of tea on the table in front of her. She let out a low whistle. “What do you need me to do?” 

Winry spread her hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Paninya.”

“Do you think you can pull him back?” The silence stretched on longer than Winry wanted. Paninya leaned forward, concern written on her face. “Winry?” 

She sighed, digging her fingers into her hair. “I don’t know, Paninya. I wish I did. He’s miserable and so sick.” 

“You know, you’ve always taken care of him.” Paninya stood up, coming over to Winry’s chair and sitting on the arm of it. She draped an arm around Winry’s shoulders, giving her a hug. 

“Not when Al died.” She rolled her head to look at Paninya. “If I hadn’t been so lost.” Winry sighed, lacing her hands together and tucking them between her knees. 

“You were hurting, too.” Paninya smoothed Winry’s hair back and kept stroking it. Winry leaned into her touch. “I know it doesn’t seem like the right thing to say now, with all this going on. I don’t think it’s too late for Ed. You’ve been strong for him in the past, right? You have to be strong for him now. And it’ll help you both, I think.” 

She slid off the chair arm, retreating to the couch. Taking a sip of her tea, Paninya made a face and set the cup back down. “I guess the questions you have to yourself are these.” She held up a fist, counting off with her fingers. “Does Ed want to get better?” She flicked up a second finger. “If he doesn’t want to get better, what are you going to do?”

Edward had always been so driven. Winry knew there was a possibility he’d stay on this reckless path, chasing after peace – death, maybe – with arms wide open. Her stomach curdled at the thought of not hearing his gruff, brash voice any more. At visiting his grave rather than seeing the glint of his eyes and his sharp-toothed smile. If the only option was to imprison him – because Winry thought that might be the military’s next step – could she visit him in jail? Yes, she nodded to herself, she could. Realizing Paninya waited for her answer, Winry said, “I don’t want him to follow Al to the grave.” 

Paninya smiled. “I guess you have to come up with something for him to live for then.” She rolled her shoulders when her feet hit the floor. “You know, I always thought Ed had a thing for you.” Her attention drifted past Winry before Winry could even protest, going to the pictures on the wall behind Winry’s head. Photographs of Winry’s life, of her with her parents, and Pinako and Den. Of Auntie Trisha, the boys and her. Of Al and Ed, dressed in suits after the Promised Day. A picture of her with Paninya and Mr. Garfiel in front of her new shop, showing off the sign reading ‘Rockbell Automail’. Elicia Hughes and her puppy. The last photo Winry had snapped of the old yellow house on the hill in Risembool. 

Winry couldn’t say anything about Paninya’s comment. Once, a long time ago, she’d though she loved Edward. The picture she’d found in Edward’s journal of them all together and the way Edward looked at her in it came to mind. At the hospital and at Pitt’s, he’d needed her. Winry absently thumbed her chin. Something niggled at her, an idea, maybe a thought or an impression. 

“I’m going home,” Paninya announced, stretching her arms over her head to elongate her ribs. Once that was out of the way, she pointed at Winry. “You should take a long bath and get some sleep. You don’t have to walk me out.”

“You could stay. Your stuff’s here from last time.” There were times when Winry didn’t know why Paninya just didn’t move in. The spare room was filled with Paninya’s projects and clothes. 

“Hmm.” Paninya grunted while Winry tried to bring to mind that lost impression. “I guess I could.” Leaning down, Paninya slapped Winry’s foot. “But I’m getting first crack at the shower!”

Winry waved her off, taking the teacup and her beer bottle into the galley kitchen. She upended the bottle into the sink next to Paninya’s empty. Rinsing out the teacup, Winry set it aside to wash later. She drifted back through the building, making sure the doors were locked and windows shut up. The medicine cabinet caught her eye. She hadn’t restocked yet – not being home to do it, mostly, and besides, she planned on making Edward pay for what he’d taken. Fingering the latch, Winry rattled it to make sure it remained locked. Izumi had transmuted the glass back to normal before they’d taken off after Edward. The faint marks of an alchemic transmutation were visible in the glass. 

By the time Paninya had finished her shower, Winry had her pajamas in hand and her hair up in a twist to keep it from getting wet. Paninya yawned her way past Winry in the narrow hall. “Night,” she called as she sailed into the spare room, closing the door behind her. 

Moisture beaded to the bathroom mirror from Paninya’s shower, the humidity fogging the air and window. Winry cracked open the window to disperse the steam before testing the temperature of the water. Adjusting it to her liking, Winry climbed into the shower. She shivered at the sensation of water streaming over her skin. When had she last bathed? With that question echoing around without an answer, Winry made sure to scrub herself clean. 

As she rubbed a soapy cloth over her body, Winry pondered Paninya’s statement. When they were younger, Ed had taken care of both Alphonse and her. He’d leaped in front of Scar to keep her from firing the gun and protect her from the Ishvalan. He’d done his best to protect her in Briggs Mountain, even if she hadn’t realized at the time just how dangerous Mr. Kimblee had been. After rinsing the soap from her skin, Winry turned the water flow off and stepped out of the shower to dry. Rush Valley’s night air was cool and dry and made Winry shiver. The faint breeze coming through the window tickled at the damp on her skin. She hurriedly dried and dressed, remembering to close the window before leaving the bathroom. The moisture would dissipate into the rest of the house. 

It seemed like a very long time since she’d seen her bed. Winry pulled the covers back, settling in between the sheets with a sigh. Tugging the light switch chain, she let a small pool of light illuminate her bedside table. Edward’s journal lay on it along with a couple of automail magazines and a book of the racy type Mr. Garfiel favored reading and often shared with ‘his girls’. Taking a deep breath, Winry picked up the journal, letting it fall open to the photograph. 

They all looked so young in it. Winry brought it up close to her face, trying to remember the day the picture had been taken. That summer after the Promised Day, because Al’s cheeks were still hollow and his skin still pale. She studied it, wondering if Granny had seen the way Edward looked at her. Maybe she had but never said anything about it to Winry. Pinako Rockbell and Edward Elric respected each other but preferred shouting to expressing feelings. And Winry wasn’t always home that summer, she had her customers in Rush Valley to take care of and had gone there a few times a quarter to make sure everyone received the best care she could offer. She could’ve easily missed a lot of talks they might have had while she was away. 

Winry set the photo on the table, hefting the book in her hands. For such a little thing, it had a lot of weight, maybe because Edward had put so much of himself into it. She flipped to the first page. Edward’s handwriting changed throughout the journal, from a childish scrawl to an intense, adult hand. Doodles littered various pages though Winry couldn’t guess at what some of them were supposed to be. Edward’s artistic skills were nothing to talk about, especially compared to Alphonse’s. Winry paused on one page, staring at a little box house with a tree next to it. It reminded her of the house the brothers burnt down. She thought of the green grass growing over the remains of the Elric house. Edward’s alchemy was impressive when he wanted it to be. Healing that burnt, angry reminder, it meant something. Winry hoped it meant Edward wanted to heal himself as much as he’d wanted to return the property to life. 

Alphonse once told her alchemy journals were written in code. That each alchemist wanted to keep the secrets they’d learned close. He’d shown her his own journal once – something that looked more like the care and feeding of cats than an alchemist’s work. She couldn’t make head nor tails of it – and Winry would’ve never told him, but she’d been bored reading about the cats. She’d wondered if alchemists actually tried to bore their readers to death to keep their secrets though she kept that thought quiet. 

Still, Edward’s journal was different. His was a journey, written like a travelogue. She could read about places he’d been –Liore, Dublith, Briggs – and it actually kept her interested. Yes, there were some odd comments here and there. Winry thought they might be ingredients or something for a transmutation or side notes she couldn’t figure out. Despite Edward sending her coded notes in class when they were kids, this was beyond her understanding. Still, his descriptions of where he’d been, what he’d seen, captivated her. 

Winry didn’t read all the way through. She skipped around the book, looking at the tabs marking certain pages. Reading those pages specifically didn’t offer up much in the way of Edward’s mind set though the writing on certain of the pages made her look twice. In one, she could tell he’d been agitated when he wrote it from the sharp angles and misspellings. She wondered if he’d gone back at any point to reread that page and then thought not – Edward would’ve fixed the misspellings in some way if he’d reread it. This page read about the Youswell mines. Alphonse had told her about them once but nothing more, Mr. Yoki later told her – told all of them – Edward had destroyed his little fiefdom there. 

She came to the ripped page, the jagged tear going from the right edge of the paper and leaving behind a rough third of the paper. Winry fingered the soft tear, wondering why Edward had torn the page that way. No notes or doodles marred the page to offer a clue. No answer presented itself. With a sigh, Winry took out the photo again, studying it. Maybe Pitt was right. Maybe Edward needed to be weaned off of her, too, just like he needed to purge his body of its need of drugs. But she was right, too, with her explanation. Granny had left a lot of Edward’s care to her after that night he and Alphonse tried to bring Auntie Trisha back. Edward had worn the first arm she’d designed herself. He’d always gotten her best work and that had never changed, no matter how she’d felt about Alphonse. 

If he was addicted to her, there might be a part of her addicted to him, too. Winry shifted in her bed. She chewed on her lower lip, trying to counter that thought and realizing she couldn’t. There was no part of her life she could think of Edward hadn’t impacted of in some way or another. Her love of automail and mechanics – that had bloomed before he’d lost his arm and leg, but making him her best work, pushing herself to make sure he had her best pieces, that definitely proved her devotion to him. Up until Briggs, she had loved Edward. 

Winry stopped at that conscious thought. She had loved Edward. She’d even thought about it on the train ride from Central City back to Rush Valley. He’d thrown himself in front of her, kept her from shooting Scar then ran off to help Alphonse. And afterward, he’d told her what he’d found out about Scar killing her parents. He hadn’t told her about it before because he wasn’t sure he had the entire truth. Like why he hadn’t told her about Mr. Hughes’ death. Edward had done his best to protect her, both physically and mentally, but both times, his attempt at protecting her backfired. Had he started pulling away then? Winry couldn’t recall. She could still remember the weight of his red coat on her shoulders, how warm it felt when he left her with the police officers to go find Alphonse and Scar. How her heart had broken then at his leaving. But a part of it was rebuilt at the same time – Edward had cared enough to make sure she didn’t do something that might’ve ruined her life. 

Winry tucked the photo back in the journal. She couldn’t look at it any more. Closing the book, Winry set it on her bedside table. It would do no more good to look at it tonight. She needed her rest so she could continue her work. 

“So I can make you a new arm and leg,” she whispered as she turned out the light. Winry rolled onto her back, lacing her fingers across her stomach. The sounds of Rush Valley filtered through even the closed window, the softened clang of metal workers shaping their wares, the continuous hum of grinders. The bar down the street with its music and laughter that would go until around six in the morning, when it would finally close up until around three in the afternoon when it would reopen and start serving drinks, music, and food again. 

It was home and had been for years. Winry didn’t know if she could live anywhere else but spending those days in Risembool, visiting the cemetery and the place where the Elric house had stood made her feel…not homesick but nostalgic. She knew she couldn’t ‘go home’. Granny’s house was sold. Long gone, but Risembool still remained. And people still needed automail, wherever they lived. 

And Edward wanted to go home, wherever that meant to him. Winry hoped that didn’t mean Josephine. The woman would suck whatever soul was left in him and eat up the husk. Winry shook her head, feeling the frown starting. She couldn’t think that, not now. She had to concentrate on her orders, getting her customers fitted with their automail, and then building Edward’s arm and leg. Once she’d finished that, once she’d installed his new limbs, then should could decide what to do next. 

“But not ‘til then,” she said firmly. Now she needed to close her eyes and sleep. 

It just seemed like sleep was a long time coming.

**Works inspired by this one:**

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